


Reverie

by ineswrites



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Comics), Marvel 616, Secret Avengers, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, Forced Amnesia, Language, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Pre-Slash, Suicidal Attempts, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, but it's not, it walks into the coffee shop au territory, more like coffee shop au in-universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7599868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineswrites/pseuds/ineswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m here to talk about Spider-Man.”<br/>Wade became serious right away. “Is he in trouble?”<br/>Daisy watched the mercenary standing before her closely, suddenly feeling a little bad about what she was about to say. When she decided to pay Deadpool a visit, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but she certainly didn’t think his first reaction would be concern.<br/>“Yes, you could say that.”<br/>“You want me to help? I can help. On the house. Just tell me—”<br/>“Deadpool,” she cut him off while she still felt up to do so. “You got him in it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Upon a December

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place in an alternate universe, which I even named Earth-005. In here, Spider-Man and Venom (Flash Thompson) are S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and ex-Secret Avengers. Spider-Man and Deadpool have been best friends for two years.  
> The story is highly inspired by Secret Avengers vol 2, but reading it is not required to understand it.
> 
> Before you start wondering why Deadpool acts unusually - he's based on how he was written in Deadpool (1997) and Cable & Deadpool. So you know - no boxes. Honestly, we should get over the boxes, they're so 2010.

 

“Can’t you just buy your own car?” Weasel complained as he was forced out of his warm bed at seven in the morning and into the driver’s seat. “Or, I don’t know, call Ooper.”

“You could’ve just given me the keys.”

“No way! You’ll drive this car over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.”

Weasel gave his boss/sometimes bud a wry look. “I’m still considering that job offer from Taskmaster, just so you know…”

Deadpool huffed. “That loser?”

“Loser or not, I’m sure he wouldn’t treat me like you do.”

“Aw, what are you, my wife? Let’s not get ridiculous.”

It was Weasel’s time to huff. “Tough, coming from you.”

Deadpool squinted at him. “What was that supposed to mean?”

Weasel suppressed an eye roll. “I can’t do that before my morning coffee.” He pulled up at the closest coffee shop. Deadpool groaned.

“Are you kidding me? Time is essential here! You can have coffee after we’re done!”

Weasel looked at him seriously as he turned off the engine. “Deadpool, you ran out of gun oil. It’s not the end of the world. You can wait ten more minutes.” Unless Deadpool snorted it or something. One could never tell with him. For all Weasel knew, his boss’s constant psychosis could in fact be caused by sniffing gun oil. That would explain why he needed a new bottle every few days.

“You want anything?” he asked, mainly to humor a now pouting Deadpool. A sulky Deadpool was a stabby Deadpool, and Weasel didn’t like him that way.

“A hot dog,” Wade mumbled after a while.

“It’s a coffee shop. They don’t offer hot dogs.”

“Then whatever. Food. No grass, or I’ll spank you.”

“A muffin?”

“Call me that again and I’ll definitely spank you.”

Weasel got out of the car and Wade watched him enter the coffee shop. He played with the window for five seconds, rolling it down and then up again, before he got bored and sighed loudly. He considered stealing—borrowing! Borrowing Weasel’s car, but it seemed that his old pal predicted he might and took the keys with him. Sly creature.

He stirred when someone banged on the window. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Weasel, looking distressed. He rolled the window down again. “What?”

“You have to see this,” came Weasel’s evasive answer.

“I thought you were supposed to get coffee? Can we go now?”

“Wade, I’m serious – get out of the car and come see this.”

Reluctantly, Wade opened the door. Barely he stepped outside, Weasel literally dragged him towards the coffee shop.

“What could be so important, Weaz? I swear, if you’re doing this to mess with me…” Deadpool warned as they walked inside the warm, faintly lit room, smell of coffee and something sweet surrounding them.

“Have I ever messed with you?” Weasel scoffed and pointed at the barista. He flashed a professional smile when they made eye contact.

“How can I help you?” he asked. Wade gawked. Not exactly sure what he was doing, he reached up and pulled his mask off. The boy’s smile wavered, but he held it.

“I’ll have…” Wade looked over the menu written on the posters hanging just above the boy’s head, his pulse loud in his ears. He saw letters, but couldn’t put them to words.

“Medium americano and a chocolate muffin, please,” Weasel took pity on him and came to his rescue. Wade watched him pay, and then the boy make the coffee. He handed their order to them with another professional smile. Weasel thanked him and had to push Wade out. They got back to the car, none of them moving nor saying anything for a moment.

“He didn’t recognize me,” Deadpool said finally and put the mask back on.

“They wiped his memory, you knew that.”

“Yeah.” He looked out the window, the world outside blurry before his eyes. “Can we go now?”

Weasel started the engine. “But, you found him. You can come visit him now. Befriend him anew.”

Deadpool’s hands curled into fists. “Not a word.”

“Of course, that’ll be tricky,” Weasel continued as he drove away. “They’re probably watching him. Maybe they already know you found him. They’re going to try and keep you awa—OW!”

“I said: not a word,” Deadpool repeated in a low voice as he pulled his knife out of Weasel’s thigh.

 

*

 

It happened on a Popcorn Day. Wade never was too big on popcorn, but he had a bowl accompany him during a Maude marathon every once in a year. Firm knocking on his door was especially surprising on the day like this.

(To be completely honest, it’d be equally surprising on any other day, just the fact it was a Popcorn Day made it all the more memorable.)

Wade looked at the door in wonder. The only people that ever visited him in Jersey were pizza boys, hookers and, very rarely, Weasel – and only when he couldn’t reach him by other means. Which he hadn’t tried for at least a week at the time. Besides, it wasn’t even Weasel’s way of knocking; his was softer and kind of uncertain.

(Wade wondered briefly what it said about him that he’d be able to recognize Weasel’s knocking even if he was half-asleep/half-dead/all of the above. Probably just that they were good pals, stabbing, jaw-breaking and verbal harassing aside.)

(Besides, that was how Wade showed affection.)

Well, there was also Logan and other costumes that either suddenly needed his help/wanted to kill him/maim him/make him disappear, but somehow they never knocked. Just came in along with the door.

(Wade lost count on how many times he had to buy a new door. He also lost count on how many times he was evicted because of how many times his door was forced in.)

The knocking repeated. With a gun by his side, Wade finally moved to answer the door. He raised his would-be-eyebrows at the sight of the pair standing behind it. It wasn’t like he had had a vague idea of who could disrupt his peace and quiet on a Popcorn Day (although he was secretly hoping for Olsen twins – hey, a boy could dream), but S.H.I.E.L.D. was the last thing he expected.

(Well, maybe the almost last thing. Spanish Inquisition had to be the last one.)

“Whoa. Director Jailbait and Eyepatch Junior. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

“Deadpool.” The young brunette shoved past him, her bald, one-eyed companion following her like a dog. Wade shut the door behind them and tucked the gun away in the back of his jeans. Director Johnson stopped in the middle of the living room, looking around the prevailing mess with disdain.

“I’m here to talk about Spider-Man.”

Wade became serious right away. “Is he in trouble?”

Daisy watched the mercenary standing before her closely, suddenly feeling a little bad about what she was about to say. When she decided to pay Deadpool a visit, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but she certainly didn’t think his first reaction would be concern.

“Yes, you could say that.”

“You want me to help? I can help. On the house. Just tell me—”

“Deadpool,” she cut him off while she still felt up to do so. “You got him in it.”

It had been a while since Wade had a need to cover his face from everyone; he had figured, if someone found his incredibly good looks overwhelming, it was their problem, not his. But right then, he wished he had put the mask on before opening that door. Judging stares from his (unwanted) guests made him feel naked.

“What did I do?” he asked, his stomach tightening in anxiety. He knew they could hear the change in his voice and it made him feel all the more vulnerable. “I can fix it,” he added quickly.

“No, you can’t. But you can make it better.” Daisy paused, expecting Deadpool to say something, but he was unusually silent and focused. “Your… relationship got in the way. Spider-Man became careless and put the whole Agency in jeopardy. All because of you. We had to react. He’s temporarily suspended.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Wade raised his hands. “Stop right there. Whatever he did, how is it my fault? And if he’s suspended – what exactly is my role here? What do you want me to do?”

Johnson decided it fit to answer only the last question. “His memory was wiped. He doesn’t remember anything about S.H.I.E.L.D. and, most importantly, he doesn’t remember anything about you. We moved him somewhere else under a new identity. What I want you to do is to not look for him. Stay away. Forever.” She gave him a stern look. “Are we clear?”

Wade just stared at her. With a delay he realized that his fists were shaking by his sides. Fury’s hand came to rest on his holstered gun warningly.

“Or what?” Wade finally spat through gritted teeth. Johnson cocked her left eyebrow.

“Or we’ll do the same thing to him. Again. So you understand that he’ll be better off without you.”

Wade’s only reaction was to open the door. Johnson and Fury exchanged glances and took their cue to leave.

“Hey, Jailbait,” Wade called when they were already at the end of the corridor. “Watch your back.”

Johnson turned to look at him, unimpressed. “Is that a threat?”

“Maybe.” Wade shut the door. “Or maybe it’s a promise,” he seethed.

 

*

 

Wade couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t anything new – his constant cellular regeneration kept him awake for days, but usually he was able to catch three hours of sleep after seventy-two hours straight of going. If he got injured enough, he’d sleep through the whole night like a baby. Sometimes getting drunk did the trick, too – the problem was, it was extremely hard for him to get even tipsy, for the very same reason.

But this was his fourth night going, and he lied in bed restless, staring into the darkness above him. He recalled the recent Popcorn Day; it’s been six months now, and Wade had thought he came to terms with losing his best friend – whom he had been kind of crushing on – forever. Johnson was right – mind wipe or not, Spidey was better off without him. Not only was their friendship frowned upon – S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and heroes didn’t befriend mercenaries – but people close to Deadpool didn’t tend to end up well. And not because he was a terrible friend (he was), but because he was such a terrific enemy (so everyone wanted to get to him through the ones he cared for).

But now he found him. He knew where he worked and that knowledge overwhelmed him. He didn’t know what to do. Weasel said he could befriend him anew, and he was right, but Wade knew he should stay away, for Spidey’s own sake.

At six in the morning he decided the hour was decent enough to get up. Resolving he needed some fresh air, he put on random clothes and went on a long walk. And if he happened to drop by a certain coffee shop, well. He hadn’t slept in four days, he could use some coffee.

The place just opened and sans the barista, it was empty. Wade took a moment to watch him, being too taken aback the last time to take a proper look.

He hadn’t changed much. His brown hair was longer and messier than ever, falling into his eyes every so often, but everything else stayed the same. He was still well-built and pale from not spending much time in the sun. His nametag said, “Hello, my name is Dean”. Wade cocked one eyebrow at that. He knew they had changed his name, but why Dean? It sounded so silly.

“Hey,” he said with a faint smile as he approached the coffee bar.

Peter looked up at him from his smartphone and smiled back. This time it was more honest than professional, as he recognized Wade from the day before.

“Hey. What’ll you have?”

Now that Wade actually thought about it, he didn’t even like coffee. “I’m not sure.”

Spidey bit his lower lip to suppress an amused smile. “Well, do you want your coffee for waking up or for the taste?”

Wade raised his eyebrows. “Are there people who actually drink it for the taste?”

This time Spidey couldn’t help but grin. “Sure. When it comes to places like this, it’s all about the syrups. Put them in a latte and it tastes nothing like your regular espresso.”

“Okay, let’s try that then.”

He turned to the cash register and started tapping on the small screen attached to it. “What tastes do you like?”

“Tex-Mex,” Wade replied automatically. Peter looked up at him to make sure he wasn’t joking and only then Wade realized he said something stupid. And it probably wasn’t the first time this morning. Just Deadpool things.

“I propose chili with a chocolate syrup then,” Peter said, his eyes returning to the screen. “You should like it, if you’re a fan of spicy things.”

_Food’s not the only thing I like spicy_ , Wade thought to himself. _Don’t say that out loud._

“Okay.”

“With whipped cream?”

“Sure.” _I have some ideas where you can put it._

If Peter still remembered him, Wade would have said that. He’d waggle his eyebrows suggestively and Spidey would laugh. He’d comment, “kinky,” or something like that. But things were different now, and if Wade said something similar, Peter would think he was some creep hitting on him, and he couldn’t have that. It was weird and difficult, suddenly having to put a filter on his mouth when talking to Spidey (or talking to anybody, for that matter). He was aware he was going to slip soon and say something terrible, so he was relieved when Peter cashed him (he didn’t bat an eye on the price, even though he was hundred percent positive a cup of coffee wasn’t supposed to cost this much) and told him he would call for him when his order was ready. Wade sat in the corner, far away from the front door, where he could watch Peter work without falling straight into his peripheral vision.

Their encounter didn’t go half bad, he thought, as he watched the coffee in front of him distrustfully. He made Peter smile a lot; that was always a good thing, right?

The coffee shop was getting busier, sleepy zombie-people coming and going with hot paper cups warming up their hands. Wade could easily tell which ones were regulars – they would earn a different kind of smile from Spidey, similar to the one he looked at Wade today with. Not without a satisfaction, he noticed that Peter didn’t spend as much time talking to any other customer as he did to Wade that morning. Sure, they, unlike him, came here for coffee, not small talk, but he still considered it a small victory.

Suddenly Spidey’s lips widened in a very happy grin and Wade tensed, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He was right to get nervous; he instantly recognized the blonde woman who just entered and it meant bad news. He quickly pulled his hood over his head and face, but the truth was that if she looked his way, she’d recognize him, too.

It was Mockingbird.

Of course, Wade knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was watching Peter. He wasn’t that stupid. Spider-Man was too precious to let him out of sight, and he was only suspended anyway. They were probably going to recruit him once they decided he was “ready”. Also, they probably wanted to make sure Wade really stayed away. But damn, he really wasn’t expecting Mockingbird in this coffee shop before eight in the morning.

“Aren’t you gonna be late for work?” he heard Spidey ask cheerfully over the noise of a coffee maker. Mockingbird leaned on a coffee bar.

“Nah, you know how my boss is. She doesn’t care as long as the job is done.”

Wade huffed to himself. As far as he was concerned, Mockingbird was already at work. Too bad Spidey had no idea about that.

“So, you still wanna quit after you got that raise?” Mockingbird asked. Spidey shrugged.

“I dunno. It’s not that I don’t like this job – I do. Even if it’s a bit monotonous. I have cheaper coffee, and the customers are great, and my boss is great – and you already know all that. But I have this feeling… it’s not ‘it,’ you know? It’s not what I’m supposed to do.”

“So what, you’d rather sell hot dogs?” Mockingbird asked jokingly.

“Something more than that. You know what I’m talking about. Working here, it doesn’t seem quite right. Something’s missing.”

Wade’s heart skipped a beat at hearing this. So Peter wasn’t completely oblivious, he noticed something was wrong. There was a tiny chance he would remember… That maybe if Wade tried, he would…

“Maybe someone,” Mockingbird mocked. “You should go out sometimes, you know, meet new people… I know this gal—”

“I’ve never liked dating.” Spidey put a large cup in front of his “friend,” looking away.

“Who said anything about dating? You could just get to know her. You could use more friends.”

“And just a month ago you said you were enough for me.”

Mockingbird chuckled. This moment Wade’s phone chose to blast “Who Let the Dogs Out” from its speakers.

“Yeah.” He pressed the phone to his ear, covering his face with his hand, but it was too late; both the barista and his friend automatically turned to the source of the noise and Mockingbird saw him.

“Got three jobs for you,” he heard Weasel’s voice. “One in Alaska, another in Nevada, and one in Poland.”

“Tell the Alaska guy to go fuck himself.” Feeling Mockingbird’s stare on him, he took a sip of his now cold coffee vacantly, smearing whipped cream on his nose. The taste surprised him; he never had anything quite like it before. It was both sweet and spicy, enough to burn his mouth and make his throat tingle, and he wasn’t yet sure he liked it.

“I can’t say that to my client.” After Hellhouse closed, Weasel not only became Wade’s agent, but he also ran a secure website for mercenaries and their clients. During the first week it started, Wade sent over hundred obscene messages to Domino, until she described in detail what she was gonna do to his balls and who she was gonna feed them to after. Wade had been traumatized for the following week, then he forgot and sent her another message. She showed up on his doorstep the next morning wielding secateurs. Wade spent the following four days hidden in a closet.

“Technically, he’s my client.”

“So there’s a jailbreak and, uh… politician assassination.”

“Booo-ring.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t bother me with crap like this in the future. Put Taskmaster on it or whatever.” He hung up and glanced up. Mockingbird had her back turned to him, chatting away with Peter, but she definitely saw him. The damage was done.

“Gotta run,” she said. “Lunch later?”

Peter nodded. “Chinese?”

“You betcha.” Mockingbird waved with her free hand (she had a paper cup in the other one) and left the coffee shop. Wade watched her through the window until she turned the corner. What were the odds that she was gonna wait for him to exit?

He pocketed his phone and gulped the rest of his coffee down. He made sure to pass by the coffee bar on his way out.

“Goodbye.”

Peter smiled at him. “Have you enjoyed your coffee?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered without thinking and mentally cursed. What was he trying to do, befriend him or scare him off?

He froze when he suddenly realized he didn’t know the answer.

Peter wasn’t offended, though. “So maybe you need to drink another one to make up your mind?”

Wade offered a relieved smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

“See you soon, then.”

“Yeah, see you.”

He walked through the front door and clicked his image inducer. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation with a disgruntled Mockingbird.

 

*

 

The next day, Wade was sixty percent sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to wipe Spider-Man’s memory and move him to Nebraska. He was relieved when he saw Peter open the coffee shop on Friday morning.

He spent a week on a rooftop opposite Peter’s workplace and by that time, he knew his schedule better than his own apartment. Peter worked mornings on workdays and afternoons on weekends. Mockingbird would show up every morning. She ate lunch with Peter three times a week: on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. On Saturday night, she’d show up and drive him somewhere, presumably home.

As a civilian, Wade dropped by the coffee shop on the next Friday after lunch hours. Peter stood behind the coffee bar with a colleague. He smiled when they locked stares.

“Hey,” Wade greeted. “I’ll have the same thing as the last time.”

Peter tapped at the little screen, cashed him, and turned to the coffee maker. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?”

Taken aback, as he didn’t expect him to strike up an actual conversation, Wade looked out the window. He shrugged.

“Just like in New York,” he said carefully, waiting for any kind of reaction from the barista, who only looked at him questioningly. “Sorry. I just moved from there,” he explained.

“Ah, right. The capital of superheroes. I’ve always been wondering, aren’t you cold, wearing only spandex in winter?” Peter asked over the noise of the coffee maker. Wade didn’t like how he didn’t mention he also moved from New York; sure, it wasn’t like Peter had to tell a random stranger everything about his past, but… what if he didn’t remember living there at all?

“I’ve never cared about the cold. I’m from Canada.” That statement also didn’t bring about any reaction. Not that Wade was expecting Peter to admit he used to have a friend from Canada, but… Okay, he was. He totally was.

Peter only hummed in acknowledgement, focusing on Wade’s Chili Mocha, so he decided to carry on the conversation, trying to see if he could stir any memories from his time in New York.

“So, do you like Spider-Man?”

Peter gave him a confused look. “Why?”

“People usually either love or hate him. I guess he’s not as popular in Chicago…” Wade trailed off.

“Oh, I’m not from here.” Peter put the mug with Wade’s mocha in front of him. “But to answer your question… You know, I never cared for superheroes. I have my own life to worry about.” His head snapped up suddenly when he realized what he said might have been rude. “No offence,” he added quickly.

“What, me? I’m not a superhero.”

“Oh. What do you do then?”

Wade felt his palms starting to sweat. _Great, Wilson. Go ahead, tell him you’re a mercenary with more blood on your hands than this place has coffee. He’s sooo gonna take it well._

“I do stuff… for money,” he replied evasively.

“So, like, you’re a mercenary.”

_You genius, you!_ Mind wipe or not, Peter had S.H.I.E.L.D. training. Did Wade really not expect him to catch up on this? Time to change his attitude.

“Not just any mercenary. World class.” The pride he said it with was only partially fake. He leaned on a coffee bar casually.

“Cool.”

What did he just say?!

He gawked at Spidey, who was now taking another client’s order. “Ex-squeeze me? I kill people for money,” he clarified in case Peter didn’t get that. The man in tailored suit that was paying for his cappuccino looked at him with eyes wide. “Just kidding, pal,” Wade muttered. Not that he cared what a random douchebag thought of him, but he didn’t want to scare Peter’s clients off.

“Okay, so I guess it’s not cool,” Peter said when the guy walked away to take a seat. “But I see where you’re coming from. Had teachers that made me think about pursuing this career. But I ended up here.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s better or worse.”

Well, that was new.

“You kidding me? You better not, I’m the funny one here… How can making coffee be worse than assassinating? I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like what I do… But the truth is, I’m doing that because that’s the only thing I’m good at. Who’d want that?”

“I see your point, but…” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “I’m twenty-six. Five years ago I thought that I’d be somebody by this point. That I’d be doing something for this world. Something good, something important, not maintaining businessmen’s caffeine addictions.”

Wade smiled slightly to himself. Had Peter known how important he was to this world, how many lives he saved. Had he only known.

“Don’t worry, sweet cheeks. You’ll have your time to shine.”

Peter stared at him wordlessly and only then Wade realized what he just said. It came naturally; he had been calling Peter this for the past two years. Talking to him came so easily, like it always did, and for a moment there, he forgot they weren’t friends anymore and let it slip. He really needed to tell Weasel to invent a filter for his yap.

“I didn’t wanna—” he trailed off. He didn’t wanna what? Call a stranger pet names? If Peter didn’t have him for a creep before, he certainly did now.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, it’s just… Someone called me that before. My aunt?” he frowned. “No… My ex? Sorry, you don’t care. Do you like Spider-Man?”

Wade’s blood boiled at the mention of some ex he had no idea about, but it was nothing compared to the enormous hope he felt when the whole meaning of what he said hit him. He remembered someone calling him that. He remembered Wade. Barely, but he did.

“Oh, yeah, we’re superbros. Sometimes. Maybe,” he answered absent-mindedly with his eyes locked on Peter, who bit down an amused grin. “I mean, he keeps saying he hates me, but I know he means love. He’s just too shy to admit it.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Peter said, still smirking. Wade nodded towards a spider charm around his neck.

“If you don’t care about Spidey, why do you wear this? Do you like spiders?”

Peter caught the charm between two fingers automatically, but his eyes didn’t leave Wade’s face. Wade remembered that thing, the only piece of jewelry he’d ever wear. As he had told him years ago, he did buy it because it reminded him of Spider-Man.

“Does it make any sense that I don’t remember why I bought it?” Peter asked thoughtfully. “It’s not even that pretty. And here I am, wearing it despite that.”

“Yeah, does not make sense,” Wade agreed. Maybe Peter would take some time to think about it, maybe he’d remember something more. “Spiders are cool anyways. Especially the fluffy ones.”

“You mean, tarantulas?”

“Yeah, those. Always wanted to have one as a kid, but dad wouldn’t let me.”

“Aw, that’s sad. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s probably better he didn’t. I’d probably starve it. I’m bad at caring for things.” _Better at killing them than keeping them alive._

Peter nodded understandingly. “So am I. You can’t trust me with a cactus.” He nodded towards his coffee going cold. “How’s your coffee?”

Wade tried it. “Guess what? I’m still not sure. I think you’ll be seeing more o’me.”

He half-expected Peter to flinch or frown, but he smiled politely. “Then I must tell my boss we need more chili.”


	2. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weasel looked up at Wade from his coffee. “What are you trying to achieve here?”  
> Wade sighed and slumped down on a chair. He rubbed his eyelids. “Fuck me if I know, Weas. I’ll slip him my business card one day I guess.”  
> “I have a bad feeling about this.” Weasel raised his mug to take a gulp, but stopped in his tracks when a knife pierced the wall beside him, missing his ear by just an inch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who left kudos, and especially to those who commented on the previous chapter. Nothing compares to getting feedback on something you worked really hard and long for.

 

Mockingbird rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. She was put on the most boring mission on Earth and her not quite competent ex-husband telling her how terrible she was at it was the last thing she needed.

That, and a headache.

“I really don’t have time to talk about this right now,” she said.

“Bullshit. You have plenty of time. All you do is sit in that car all day. At least you have heating. I’m freezing my butt off on a roof.”

“At least you don’t have to listen to yourself complaining.”

“I’m right to complain. If only because Venom is just entering the coffee shop.”

Bobbi looked at the coffee shop, but the door already closed. “Flash Thompson? He had to be in his civvies. I don’t know what he looks like.”

“He’s one of Peter’s best friends. You _should_ know what he looks like,” Clint said disapprovingly. “To avoid situations like this.”

“Thanks for the tip, Mr. I’m Always Right.”

“See, this is _exactly_ why I would be better for that mission.”

“Listen, you’re not exactly good at what you’re doing either. You should’ve stunned him instead of letting him enter.”

“Eh, whatever. Flash’s face is pretty generic, if Deadpool’s didn’t stir Peter’s memories, there’s no way his will.”

They spent next five minutes in a blissful silence, during which Bobbi watched the coffee shop’s entrance. Soon a young blond holding a paper cup exited and turned left.

“Is that him?” Bobbi asked.

“Yes.”

Not wanting Clint to interrupt her, she took the comm out of her ear, threw it on the passenger seat and got out of the car. Thompson wasn’t walking fast; he was staring at his paper cup, lost in thought, so Bobbi quickly caught up with him. She pushed him into the nearest wall and he yelped.

“Mockingbird,” he breathed. “Assaulting disabled? What the hell?”

“I should be asking you that!” she snarled. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“I was buying coffee,” he offered a weak excuse, waving his paper cup in front of her for emphasis. She snorted.

“What you think I am, stupid? I won’t even ask how you know where he is… Just stay away before you compromise the whole mission.”

“I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping him away from Deadpool, not from me,” Thompson scoffed and walked away. Bobbi followed him.

“Look, I know you don’t like it. You’re not the only one.” She sighed. “Just have a little more patience. We’ll recruit him anew soon.”

“Easy for you to talk. You get to play his best friend every day, while his real friends are kept away.”

“Don’t be a baby.” She stopped and Thompson slowed down as well, turning his head to look at her. “Really, Venom, stay away. If I catch you here again, I’ll have to inform S.H.I.E.L.D. and that won’t end well, for anybody.”

Thompson just nodded and walked away.

 

*

 

Deadpool showed up on a street with a tiny _bzzt_ that drowned in the city’s turmoil. He stumbled to the nearest wall and leaned on it heavily, wishing very hard for the world to stop spinning. He tapped on his teleporter with the hand he still had. Either it was busted or he didn’t know what he was doing while using it; he was supposed to land in his apartment, not on a street. He groaned – the headache was making it all the harder to think. Having decided he’d worry about where exactly he was later, he pressed his masked face to the cool wall and watched blood pool around his legs while he waited for his arm to regrow.

His mind started to clear few moments later. He flexed his new arm experimentally and nodded to himself. He pushed himself away from the wall and started walking ahead. As it turned out, he was still in Chicago and landed on the same street Peter’s workplace was located on. It made sense now that he thought about it, as it was the place he teleported to last time.

It was too late for the coffee shop to still be opened, so he just kept on walking, still not feeling focused enough to poke around his teleporter’s settings. The last thing he wanted was to end up on Antarctica with no way to get back home.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw three silhouettes in front of him. One of them was clearly being assaulted by the other much bigger ones. Deadpool was just about to cross the street to avoid the scene – he really wasn’t in the mood to save random strangers for free, no, leave it to heroes – but the car driving by lit up the figures and Deadpool stared dumbfounded at Peter’s frustrated face. He watched the scene for another couple of seconds, until one of the men punched Peter in the face and, before he knew it, he was rushing their way, both katana in his hands.

“Hey!” he called, and the three turned his way. “How about I punch you in the face?”

He swung the sword, and before the man who punched Peter managed to duck, the sharp adamantium blade cut off his face. A short shriek escaped Peter’s lips as his now dead attacker fell to the ground, droplets of his blood staining his baggy jeans and sneakers. The second man took a few shaky steps back, staring at Deadpool with his eyes wide. Then he turned away and started running. Wade calmly sheathed one bloody sword, unholstered a gun, aimed and fired. The man, now several meters away from them, yelped and fell. The bullet hit him in his spine; he would survive if someone called an ambulance, but he was going to remain paralyzed for the rest of his life. Having decided it was good enough, Deadpool slowly turned to Peter, who was clenching the wall behind him for dear life and tried very hard not to look at the faceless corpse at his feet.

“Why didn’t you just punch them?” Wade asked without thinking. Okay, so maybe Peter didn’t remember being a superhero and punching bad guys every other day, but he had to be aware of his strength, right?

“I didn’t wanna hurt them,” he responded. His voice was stable, if a little higher. “I tried talking first.”

Wade rolled his eyes. It was so typical of Peter to try and keep everybody safe, even scumbags like those two. Even when he didn’t remember being Spider-Man.

“Next time just punch them.”

Peter shrugged, getting a grip on himself. “Hopefully there won’t be a next time. So, uhm… Thanks.” His gaze darted back to the body of his assaulter. “That was… a little extreme.”

“Extreme’s my middle name. I was created in the ‘90s after all.” Deadpool shrugged as well. “Hey, how about I walk you home? Just in case there was a next time.”

Peter agreed and they continued their walk. “I live just several streets away. You often get attacked close to home, don’t you?”

“Well, _I_ get attacked everywhere. But civilians… Yeah, I guess.”

“Must be hard.” He looked Deadpool up and down, his gaze lingering longer on the blood stains on his suit and a ripped off sleeve. “Tough night?”

“Not more than usual.” Wade shrugged. “And I got paid top dollar, so hey, I ain’t complaining.”

Peter only nodded, not knowing what to say to that.

The walk was short; Peter stopped in front of one of the gray apartment blocks.

“We’re here.” He unlocked the door and turned his head to look at Wade briefly. “Thanks again, and… See you around.”

He slipped inside quickly. Wade stood in front of the closed door for a while, stunned by his hasty retreat. His shoulders slumped slightly. Maybe he freaked Peter out with his extreme methods. Of course he did, who wouldn’t be freaked out? Maybe Bullseye.

He flinched at a sudden piercing pain in his shoulder. He looked down to see an arrow sticking out of his flesh. He raised his eyebrows. What the—

He was shoved into a wall, somebody’s hand pinning his uninjured shoulder down. Another arrow found its place underneath his jaw, its sharp head pressing against his skin.

“Deadpool,” the man holding him snarled. “What are you doing here?”

Wade gasped, staring at the blond’s face. “Omigod. It’s Clint Barton. Man, you’re hotter in person than on TV.”

Clint frowned. Deadpool heard him talking, saw his lips moving, but he had a little trouble focusing on what was being said because Clint fucking Barton was evading his personal space and was touching him and Wade had always liked him—

Clint moved away, his hand dropping from his shoulder, but the arrow beneath his jaw was pressed further into his skin, drawing few droplets of blood before the small wound closed as quickly as it opened.

“Focus, goddammit!” Clint growled. “For the last time: what are you doing here?”

“Was I talking out loud?” Wade wondered. The arrow drew more droplets of blood and he raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Clint – can I call you Clint?”

“No, you can’t.”

“So, look, Clint, there I was, walking home after a job well done, the streets were a bit hazy although maybe it was caused by blood loss, not the real haze—”

“To the point,” Hawkeye hissed.

“I’m trying! Seriously, man, I’m trying, this is the shortened version, I swear. So I was walking and then I saw this beauty being attacked, so of course I stopped and helped like a benevolent hero I am—” Clint snorted mockingly. “Seriously, it’d go faster if you stopped interrupting me…”

“So what you’re trying to say is that this is the first time you saw him?”

“Yes, totally, it was an accident, really. I was just trying to make the world a better place and what do I get in return? I’m getting attacked! Although it’s you, so I haven’t yet decided if it’s a punishment or a reward—”

“Mockingbird saw you before. Stop lying.”

“Aw, you tricked me. You knew it all along. I’m impressed.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Clint snapped suddenly.

“Duh.”

“I recall you saying you’d stay away—”

“Only you can’t because, as far as I’m concerned,  you weren’t there, and besides, I didn’t say that…”

“—and you know what will happen if you get close to him again! If you really care about him, then stay away! He's better off without you—”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Deadpool snapped, shoving Clint away.

“Then why are you here?!”

_Because_ I’m _not better off without_ him.

“You already ruined his life. He lost a good chunk of it because of you. I won’t let you make it worse! There’s only this many times you can fiddle with somebody’s brain like this before you damage it!”

“Look, I wasn’t looking for him. It was an accident. I stumbled upon him by accident.”

“And you kept coming back. Fully aware of the consequences.”

Wade closed his eyes. Clint was right. They all were right. He knew the risk, he knew it’d be Peter paying the price for his recklessness and not him, but he didn’t even stop to think that maybe he should leave him be. He was a selfish prick.

“—please don’t wipe his memory again,” he heard himself talking.

Clint sighed and put the arrow he was still holding in his quiver. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here.”

“Thanks.”

“For him, not for you.” He glared at him. “But if I see you near him again, I’ll have to do something about it.”

“You won’t. Pinky swear.” Wade held out his pinky. Clint only scowled.

“Get outta here.”

Wade yanked the arrow out of his shoulder, threw it on the ground and started walking away. Feeling Clint’s glare burn a hole in his back, he turned around, grinned and made a “call me” gesture. If Clint wasn’t disgusted before, he certainly was now. Wade snickered to himself and continued his walk into the night.

 

*

 

Bob sat at a table pitifully, looking at a picture of a fair-haired woman laid out in front of him. A clad in red spandex finger pointed at it.

“This,” Mr. Wilson said, “is Mockingbird.”

Bob nodded. He knew who she was, he was taught all about costumes back at Hydra. There was no point in telling Mr. Wilson that though, it might irritate him, so Bob kept quiet.

“This is a very bad idea, Wade.” Weasel was leaning on a wall, dressed in just a bathrobe, holding a big mug of coffee.

“Shut it,” Mr. Wilson said, then turned his attention back to Bob. “Yer gonna go to that coffee shop, greet the barista very nicely and ask him for a Chili Mocha. You tell him it’s for a friend, that his name is Wade and that he says hi. BUT,” his voice grew louder and Bob jumped in his chair, barely resisting the urge to hide under the table, “if you see Mockingbird there—”

“Hail Hydra!” Bob offered. Mr. Wilson shook his head.

“No, Bob, no hailing Hydra. You only ask for coffee. Did you remember everything?”

Bob pouted. Of course he remembered, he wasn’t stupid.

“Well, then go.” Mr. Wilson grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him out the door.

Weasel looked up at Wade from his coffee. “What are you trying to achieve here?”

Wade sighed and slumped down on a chair. He rubbed his eyelids. “Fuck me if I know, Weas. I’ll slip him my business card one day I guess.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Weasel raised his mug to take a gulp, but stopped in his tracks when a knife pierced the wall beside him, missing his ear by just an inch. “Wade!” he shrieked before he thought better of it.

“I don’t need your negativity.” Wade pointed his index finger at him. “What happened to ‘you can befriend him anew’?”

“That was before Hawkeye threatened to wipe his mind again.”

Wade rubbed his face with his hands. That was what he got for not telling Weasel everything right away, he supposed. “Everything’ll be okay.” He nodded, in an attempt to convince himself. “Yeah.”

Weasel facepalmed.

 

*

 

Wade traced his gloved finger along the bold, round letters on the paper cup Bob just handed him. They said “Hi Wade” and didn’t resemble Peter’s usual scribbles at all. He must have taken a special care to make the letters look so pretty.

“I think the coffee got cold,” Bob said. “I’m sorry.”

Wade only shrugged. “It tastes horrible anyway. You can have it.”

Bob pouted. “Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” he let a tiny bit of sarcasm into his voice, silently hoping Mr. Wilson wouldn’t notice.

“Know my benignity, Bobert.”

“It’s just Bob,” Bob mumbled so quietly no one else could hear him.

 

*

 

“Earth to Dean! Hey, handsome, are you there?” Dean blinked and averted his eyes from the window to look at Bobbi. She was halfway through her pasta. Dean’s own spaghetti remained untouched. “What’s on your mind?”

“One of the patrons,” Dean replied absent-mindedly, pushing the food around on his plate. Bobbi cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh? Tell me more!”

Dean sighed, his thoughts drifting back to Wade. He hadn’t seen him in a while, but he kept buying his coffee almost every day via his friend, Bob. Bob claimed Wade was just very busy and couldn’t come himself, so Dean always made sure to leave a nice message on his cup along with his name, be it a simple “hi” or “have a nice day”. But weeks had passed and he had to admit he’d rather have a small talk with Wade while brewing his coffee than listen to Bob’s awkward silence. That was when his messages changed and went more along the lines of “still busy?” and eventually “miss our talks.” But all the response he got the following day would still be “Wade says hi.”

Dean really didn’t know why he missed the guy. Maybe it was because he helped him out with those two thieves another day. Saving someone from being attacked kind of formed a bond between people. Even if said saving included cutting the attacker’s face off.

“He’s a weird guy,” Dean said finally. “But I kinda can’t wait to see him again.”

Bobbi’s smile looked like if it was gonna rip her cheeks. “Is he hot?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Is that all you are about? No, he’s not. I don’t like him _like that._ ”

“So you like him.”

“Kinda. I guess. I barely know him.” That was the point. He really didn’t know Wade all that well, and the parts he knew about him weren’t exactly pretty. Everything about Wade screamed DANGER and still he was fascinated by him. Come to think of it, maybe that was the reason. Maybe his life was boring him and he needed a little thrill. “But it feels natural, talking to him. Like if I’ve always known him.” That was also true. He frowned, reaching to his spider charm subconsciously.

“Does he have a name?” Bobbi pressed, watching her “best friend” play with his jewelry.

“It’s Wade,” Dean said, wondering why the name made his chest feel warm. _He barely knew him!_

“I bet he’s cute,” Bobbi said sweetly and shoved more pasta into her mouth. “But honey, you’re with me right now. So please, stay with me.”

“Sorry, Bobbi. I just, I don’t know why I feel this way. It worries me.”

“Oh, don’t worry. He’s just a guy, after all.”

Dean nodded. Right. Wade was just a guy. That sometimes would cut people’s faces off. He shivered involuntarily. He still couldn’t get over it.

He finally ate his cold spaghetti and Bobbi drove him home. He entered his apartment and headed straight for the bathroom, stripping on his way. He stepped into the shower tub and turned the water on. It was cold at first and he closed her eyes, waiting for it to warm up. When he was satisfied with the temperature, he lifted his eyelids to take a bottle of shower gel.

The water dripping from his body was reddish from blood.

He blinked several times. The water was normal, like always.

“I’m not getting enough sleep,” he muttered to himself.

When he was done, he put on his pajamas and went to the bedroom, retrieving his phone from his backpack on the way. The room was too big for his liking and full of unpacked carton boxes. He had been renting this place for five months now, but it still felt temporary.

He lied in his bed and read a text from Bobbi. _“So this Wade guy, when was the last time you saw him?”_

_“It’s been weeks :(,”_ he responded.

_“Aw, don’t be sad :(”_

Dean smiled to himself and put the phone away. Bobbi was such a sweetheart.

He lied in darkness for hours before sleep overcame him, bringing its dreams. His dreams always had been weird, but they got even weirder recently. Wade was often in them, in his costume or without it, and there was Spider-Man for some reason, and tarantulas, and he recalled all of this made sense in the dream, but when he woke up, it escaped him.

But usually he dreamt about his uncle and bad people similar to his recent attackers that wanted to get him. Dean would wake up in a middle of the night, covered in cold sweat, ready to pack his things and escape to another city.

This night was different. There were bad people, bloody and faceless, and Dean was with a Robin Hood guy who in the dream was his friend. The bad guys shot Robin Hood in the stomach several times and he fell, and when Dean woke up this time, he was _crying._

Not understanding his dream one bit, he wiped the tears away and got up, clenching his bare, cold shoulders. He looked in the window and for the moment there he thought he saw the Robin Hood guy from his dream standing on the opposite rooftop. He blinked and the figure was gone.

He changed his mind and sat back on the bed. He had thought he’d make himself some coffee and maybe watch a movie on his laptop till the morning, but he definitely needed more sleep. He lied down thinking how much he wanted to turn to someone that’d make him feel safe – an unfamiliar feeling ever since his uncle died.

He wondered why he thought that someone should be Wade.

 

*

 

Bob’s weekdays opened with a walk to a certain coffee shop.

It had been weeks now and Bob focused on watching his surroundings carefully while his legs lead him all the way to Mr. Parker’s workplace. And watching your surroundings in Chicago was essential, Bob has you know. Not only because all the shop windows were covered in Christmas decorations, or because the streets were flooded with people and you had to be careful not to bump into them. No; Bob always watched his surroundings because there was a bigger chance to be pickpocketed than to be asked by an endearing elder lady to help her cross the street. Not to mention that from Bob’s experience, the endearing elder ladies usually turned out to be the pickpockets.

This morning was calm, though. He passed by several A.I.M. agents fighting with Vector, and some snake-themed E-list supervillain threatened to take over the city (the witnesses’ reaction was to give him exhausted looks, and one teenager even said something along the lines of “yah, sure”). So nothing out of the ordinary.

“Eek!” Bob exclaimed suddenly at the sight of the woman from the picture, Mockingbird. He had been lucky before and hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her, until this day. “Hail Hydra!” He clasped his hands over his mouth and dived behind the nearest car before Mockingbird had a chance to notice him. Bob watched her look sideways and then enter the coffee shop. He fumbled in his pocket for a phone and tapped at Mr. Wilson’s name.

“‘S Deadpool,” the gravelly voice of his boss greeted him.

“Mockingbird’s in the shop. Should I go in?”

“Has she seen you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t. Wait for her to get out and only then enter. Not before. It should only take around fifteen minutes anyway.”

“Can I buy a different coffee? I really don’t like the chili one.”

“Sure, whatever. Get whatever you like.” Mr. Wilson hung up. It was nice of him to let Bob buy a different coffee. Especially that it was Bob who was paying for it all along.

He waited impatiently behind the car, fifteen minutes passed, half an hour passed, forty minutes passed, and Mockingbird still hadn’t exited the coffee shop. Bob’s legs got tired from crouching and he wandered closer to the entrance, risking a small peek inside. Mockingbird was leaning on the coffee bar, chatting away with Mr. Parker. Bob shuffled in place, not sure what to do. Personally, he didn’t think Mr. Wilson’s plan was very smart, or purposeful for that matter. It didn’t really do anything other than have Mr. Parker leave more and more desperate messages on the paper cups. Poor Mr. Parker. He was thrown in the center of a game which rules of were wiped clean from his memory. Bob thought he could do something more for him than give him more work. He couldn’t tell Mr. Parker about the rules, but he could give him a clue.

Knowing very well that Mr. Wilson wouldn’t approve, Bob pushed the coffee shop’s door and walked inside. It wasn’t the first time he was doing something behind Mr. Wilson’s back for his own good. Weasel had taught him long ago that it was the essence of being Mr. Wilson’s pal. Mr. Wilson had taught him that he’d have to explain his actions later to him, as quickly as possible, or he could get shot. Several times. But once Mr. Wilson understood it was for his own good, he was very pleased, so it was okay.

Mr. Parker noticed Bob right away and sent him his trademark smile. He opened his mouth to greet him, but Bob shook his head slightly with a grave expression and looked meaningfully at Mockingbird, who had her back turned to him. Mr. Parker frowned, but must have understood, as he said, “Good morning. How can I help you?” instead of, “Hi, Bob” like he was going to in the first place.

Bob ordered one of the specials from the Christmas offer what made Mr. Parker frown even more. When he asked for his name, Bob said it was Bill. Throughout the whole scene, Mockingbird glanced at him only once and continued to talk when Mr. Parker brewed the coffee.

“All I’m saying is that he’s annoying.”

“Of course he’s annoying. You divorced him,” Mr. Parker quipped over the noise of the coffee maker. Mockingbird wrinkled her nose.

“He’s not annoying because I divorced him. I divorced him because he’s annoying.”

“That’s what I meant.”

Mockingbird cocked an eyebrow. “Sure. You’d know what I’m talking about if you met him. He tells me how I should do my work. Wouldn’t you hate it? I know you’d hate it. I know how to do my work.”

Mr. Parker put a paper cup on the coffee bar in front of him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you.” Bob smiled sweetly at him and took a double time to pour sugar into the beverage.

“Is he a better insurance agent than you are?”

“Of course he’s not,” Mockingbird scoffed.

“I’m just asking because maybe he just wants to give you a friendly tip—”

“There was a lot of yelling involved.” Mockingbird massaged her temples. “Anyway, I should be going. I’ll call ya later.”

“Sure, see ya.”

Bob watched Mockingbird leave out of the corner of his eye and put a lid on the cup, ignoring Mr. Parker’s questioning gaze as he hurried after her. Pretending to be focused on trying not to spill his coffee, he followed her to the end of the street, where she got into a car. He turned the corner, took a careful sip and flinched. All the syrups and sugar made the latte too sweet for his liking. He looked at the name spelled out neatly on the cup. Upon closer inspection he discovered that instead of the dot above the “i” there was a tiny question mark. Bob couldn’t suppress a smirk. Clever.

He looked up and felt something heavy fall in his stomach. Mockingbird was still sitting in the car. And she was staring right at him. Feeling his back sweating, Bob carefully turned around and walked away, trying for the casual pace. Okay, he ran away, squeezing the cup so hard it lost its lid and its contents spilled onto his hands and down his jeans, but he was trying.

When he was far away enough to feel vaguely safe, he threw the cup away and called Mr. Wilson.

“What is it, Bobblicious?”

“I blew it,” Bob admitted in a tiny voice. “She caught up. I think she knew all along.”

“What are you talking about, Bobby, sweetheart?” Mr. Wilson’s voice significantly dropped and Bob shivered involuntarily. Oh, he got himself in trouble. He wasn’t so clever after all.

“Mockingbird. I think she knew who I was. She gave me that… stare.”

“Bobbin. Pet. Did you go into the shop even though I specifically told you not to?”

Bob gulped. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson,” he whispered and hung up. He threw the phone away as well and caught the nearest taxi.

“To the airport, please,” he said.

 


	3. When You're Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second step was to call Taskmaster.  
> “This is Taskmaster’s agent,” said the voice on the other side. Wade raised his eyebrows.  
> “He’s got his own agent now? A guy becomes second hottest mercenary and it goes to his head… Anyway, get him on the phone, pal, I got a job for him.”  
> “I’m afraid you have to… establish all the details… with me, sir…” the voice responded nervously. Wade frowned. It sounded familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be updating this once a week, more or less. I have it all written already, it just needs some editing.

 

Bobbi cursed under her breath as she watched the man run. He was Hydra and Hydra always meant trouble. Add a recently suspended agent to the mix… She shook her head. She needed a drink.

“Control, this is Mockingbird. Spider-Man just had a visitor from Hydra.” Behind her closed eyes, she could see Clint’s satisfied smirk at the revelation.

“Are you sure?” she heard Johnson’s voice in her ear.

“He hailed Hydra. Hasn’t…” She sighed. “Hasn’t Deadpool been hanging around one of them recently?”

“He has. I’m sending you his profile.”

Her phone vibrated. She took it out of her pocket and opened the message. A familiar set of eyes looked back at her from the screen. “That’s him.”

“Get back to the Hellicarrier.” Johnson sounded tired. “We discuss the next course of action.”

“Copy that.”

 

*

 

Dean had never felt a need to google his friends. Who does? People usually know more about their friends than the Internet.

Unless they don’t.

He scrolled through one of the old articles of New York’s Daily Bugle. MOCKINGBIRD JOINS THE AVENGERS, screamed the headline, and below there was a picture of Bobbi.

“Well, shit,” he muttered and took a swig from a bottle of beer. The article was years old, older than their friendship. It’d mean that when he met Bobbi two years ago, she was already—

He frowned. How did they meet again?

His eyes widened when he realized he couldn’t remember. At first he thought it was because of how much he drank, but other than that, his mind was clear and he didn’t feel drunk at all. He looked at his phone, lying just a meter away from him on the bed. He could just call Bobbi. Ask her. They could talk about it. That would be a reasonable thing to do, right? It wasn’t like Bobbi ever gave him a reason to  distrust her. Dean made it clear from the start he wasn’t interested in superheroes. Maybe Bobbi just didn’t want to brag.

Dean shook his head to himself. They had known each other for years. It would have come up. Bobbi had been hiding her other identity from him on purpose – but why? And how did she manage that for so many years? Google found out in 0.41 seconds. Dean saw Bobbi almost every day, he was bound to find out sooner rather than later… And two years was really late in Dean’s books.

He tried to recall his earliest memory of Bobbi. He clearly remembered her getting him from the airport in Chicago six months ago, and they must have exchanged some e-mails and texts previously, but everything before was just a blur. When he thought harder, he could recall vegging out on a rundown couch, watching some movies and eating pizza, and he was certainly with a friend, but wasn’t so sure it was Bobbi. But if not her, then who? And now that he thought of it, he’s been spending an awful lot time in the gym these past two years. Who spends whole days working out? Even with a stamina like his. It wasn’t even that he was training for a purpose, he was just… training.

“What the hell…” he muttered and took another swig, looking back at the screen of his laptop. So not only his best friend turned out to be lying to him the whole time, but also he was having memory problems. And no one else to turn to. Bobbi was right – he should have gone out, meet more people. Now it was too late.

“I miss my aunt.” He rubbed his face with his hands. Last time he saw her was on his uncle’s funeral. They didn’t even swap contacts.

He closed the laptop and drank some more. Then he put the bottle away on the bedside table. He needed his mind to stay clear. He got up and started walking around his bedroom, worrying his bottom lip.

Maybe he had other friends after all. Who warned him about Bobbi? Bob – and he would know who she was, he was Wade’s man after all. Wade, who was a costume, too. World class mercenary. He knew other superheroes, so of course he recognized Mockingbird. Maybe Dean should talk to _him._

He stopped in his tracks. “Why am I more willing to trust a _mercenary_ I barely know over a superhero who’s my best friend?” he asked himself, frowning. The answer came right away. “Because he never lied to me.”

He looked up at the sky through the window, bathed in red sunset glow. The Robin Hood guy was standing on the opposite rooftop.

He blinked and scanned the rooftop again. There was no one there. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought. Maybe that was why nothing made sense. Maybe he could figure it all out in the morning.

He jumped when the doorbell rang. He stared at the front door in panic until it rang again.

_Calm down. It’s probably Mr. Leighton to remind me about the rent._

With his fists clenched and shoulders tensed, he walked up to the door to answer it. Behind it stood Bobbi, dressed in a uniform he had never seen before.

“Hi, Bobbi?” Dean greeted her uncertainly, not moving to let her in. He offered a pale smile but Bobbi’s face remained grave. “Something happened? You know, it’s good you dropped by, there’s something I want to ask you about—”

“Reverie.”

 

*

 

It was a lazy night. Weasel wasn’t doing particularly anything, just trying to beat his own record in Space Invaders while washing cheesy puffs down with cheap bourbon. His apartment was unusually quiet – his bickering neighbors must have gone out – so he caught a rumble coming from his living room right away. At first he thought that maybe it was his neighbors’ cat – Devil would sometimes pay him a visit for whatever reason – most likely counting on food – but then he distinctly heard footsteps and muttering, and that was when he tensed and grabbed the nearest gun (a Glock 21 he was supposed to customize for Wade). He tiptoed to the living room and turned on the light, revealing Wade Wilson himself, swaying and holding onto a wall for dear life. Weasel sighed. Wade was indisputably drunk, which meant he must have drunk _a lot._ A bucket of vodka at least. Weasel put the gun away and approached his friend, who was mumbling something incoherently.

“Come on, to the couch.” He led him to the said furniture and helped him sit down, taking a seat beside him. “What happened?”

“I blew it, Weaz,” Wade slurred. “They know. They gonna take him away from me again.” His head landed on Weasel’s shoulder, too heavy for him to keep it up. Weasel stilled. Wade was already unpredictable when sober. Drunk…

“What did you do?”

“Nothin’. Bob let himshelf get seen.”

Weasel sighed. “Told you I had a bad feeling about this…”

It was amazing how he was able to tell when Wade was glaring at him despite his mask being on. “I _hate_ it when yer right.”

“You should’ve just left him alone.”

“I know, right!” Wade threw his arms up, lifting his head from Weasel’s shoulder and letting it fall back on the backrest. “I know. Now they gonna fiddle with his brain – shoot, maybe they gonna even _break_ it – all becuz of li’l ol’ me. I fuck up everythin’ I touch.” When he took a hold of his gun, Weasel didn’t react right away. Sometimes Wade liked to touch his weapons because it made him feel secure, but when he raised the gun towards his exposed mouth, Weasel panicked.

“Wade, no!” His voice was a high pitched squeal, but for once Weasel didn’t care how unmanly he sounded. He grabbed Wade’s hand with both of his and wrestled with him; the gun fired and he squeezed his eyes shut. The bullet hit the ceiling and chunks of drywall fell on their heads. Great. He was gonna get evicted.

“Let go,” he said in a trembling voice upon opening his eyes, still holding Wade’s now motionless hand. “Wade, let go of the gun.”

Wade’s fingers finally relaxed and Weasel felt the weapon’s weight in his own hands; he clicked the safety and put the gun away, far from Wade.

“First of all,” Weasel continued with his mouth dry, “none of this is your fault. Okay?”

Wade moved his head to the side to look at him. He still wasn’t saying anything, and while most of the world would rejoice at the sight of Deadpool being silent, it only unnerved Weasel more.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. did this to him, it’s their idea. And they’re doing this against his will. You? You didn’t do a goddamn thing,” he kept talking, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing. “I don’t even know how you could let them tell you any of this was on you.”

He could almost hear cogs turning in Wade’s head. His next movement was so sudden Weasel didn’t see it coming; he pulled Weasel towards himself and pressed their lips together. Then he threw his dazed pal away and jumped to his feet.

“You’re totally right!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around like an excited six-year-old. “All this time S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to keep me away from him whilst it’s them who should stand back!” He turned to look at a very red Weasel. “I’m gonna save him!” he announced. Weasel, slowly recovering from _Wade Winston Wilson_ laying one on him, rubbed his temples, suppressing a groan.

“I need a plan!” Wade realized.

“Do you want me to—”

“No! I know! I KNOW!” With that, Wade ran out of his apartment, laughing maniacally. Weasel hid his head in his hands.

He was so getting evicted.

 

*

 

Wade looked proudly at his master plan, crudely written down in a red crayon (his favorite!). It had everything a master plan needed: numbered steps, schemas with cute little arrows and little drawings (for drawings he used more colors to make them more realistic). Weasel was going to be so impressed!

“Showtime!”

He drew the plan closer and reread the first step. Then he took a hold of previously prepared disposable phone and dialed Domino’s number.

“Deadpool,” she greeted after the fifth signal. “Don’t make me regret answering.”

Wade blinked in surprise. “Domino, hey! How did you know it was me?”

“It’s _your_ number!”

Wade looked at the mobile phone he was calling from. His _regular_ phone. That would mean he left the disposable one in his other pants. Or maybe he didn’t buy it at all? It was hard to tell sometimes.

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Oh, did I say all that out loud again? What the hell’s wrong with the narrative here?!” Wade looked at the ceiling accusingly and shook his head. “Fifty thousand,” he added quickly. Domino stayed silent for a moment.

“Go on.”

Wade grinned. “Not on the phone. I’ll text you the time and place.”

“I have more than one reason to turn you down.”

“Probably, but are there more than fifty thousand? I don’t think so.”

She sighed. “Alright, Wilson, I’ll come, but if that’s another one of your jokes—”

“What are your odds telling you?”

Another moment of silence. “I’ll come.”

Wade sent her the text after she hung up, ticked off the first step on his master plan and went for his disposable phone (he did leave it in different pants). The second step was to call Taskmaster.

“This is Taskmaster’s agent,” said the voice on the other side. Wade raised his eyebrows.

“He’s got his own agent now? A guy becomes second hottest mercenary and it goes to his head… Anyway, get him on the phone, pal, I got a job for him.”

“I’m afraid you have to… establish all the details… with me, sir…” the voice responded nervously. Wade frowned. It sounded familiar.

“Weasel? Dat you?”

“Uhm… Hi, Wade…”

“Weasel! I appreciate a good prank, but I’m too busy for that now, you li’l degenerate… Or you know what, scratch that, I don’t appreciate being pranked at all…”

“‘Prank’… Sure…”

“That’s not a prank, is that, Weaz?”

Wade could almost hear Weasel’s fastened heartbeat over the phone. “No,” he answered in a small voice.

“You’ve been working for Taskmaster behind my back? For how long now?” Wade felt weirdly lightheaded, and there was this annoying ring in his ears.

“Four months.”

Wade picked one of his ears. “Sorry? My ears are ringing. I heard ‘four months’, but that can’t be right.”

“You heard me right, Wade.”

“And you didn’t think you should let me know about this?!” His hands were now clenching the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white and the scars covering them opened for a second before closing back. His head was still strangely light. “When were you going to tell me? Were you going to tell me at all?!”

Weasel sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Wait, does it mean that when you said you were _considering_ working for Tasky, you were already working for him?!”

“Wade—”

“No. Don’t answer that. Just get him on the phone.”

“Okay.” At least the son of a bitch had a decency to sound guilty.

“Ah, and Weasel?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re fired.”

Weasel didn’t say anything to that; the next thing Wade heard was Taskmaster himself answering the phone. Wade didn’t respond right away. Suddenly he didn’t want to employ Tasky anymore. He felt more like throwing the phone into the wall. And then Weasel. And Tasky. He’d enjoy to listen to some skulls cracking.

“Deadpool, what is it? I have better things to do than listen to you breathe.”

Wade’s gaze landed on his master plan. He spent half a night on it. Unfortunately, he needed Taskmaster for it to work. He closed his eyes and sighed. He could still kill him later.

“I got a job for you…”

 

*

 

The stairway Deadpool found himself in reeked of piss and digested cheap wine, but having been regularly exposed to many different kinds of stench, he was less sensitive to them. He rang a doorbell and rocked on the balls of his feet, humming a cheerful tune, ceasing only when the door finally opened.

 “Oh, it’s you,” he said with disappointment at the sight of Weasel behind the door.

“What did you expect? It’s my apartment. Maybe you shouldn’t set up the meeting at my place if you didn’t want to see me,” Weasel remarked as Wade pushed past him, bumping shoulders with him in the process. Hard.

“And where was I supposed to meet them? At mine?” Wade scoffed, shoving two black suitcases in Weasel’s arms. “Besides, I chose this place _before_ I knew you were cheating on me.”

“I wasn’t _cheating_ …” Weasel muttered but Wade was already in the living room, not paying attention to him. He opened his arms at the sight of both Domino and Taskmaster, sitting at a round table and drinking tea.

“I’m glad you guys made it. It’s been a long time. When was the last time I saw you, skull face? Ah, right – when I handed your ass to you back in Cable & Deadpool! While being manacled!”

Taskmaster sipped his tea, unfazed. “I’m gonna charge for every wasted minute extra.”

“Good idea,” Domino muttered.

“Et tu, Brute!” Deadpool exclaimed dramatically, clenching his chest and raising the back of his hand to his forehead.  The two mercs stared at him, unimpressed.

“I’m thinking, a thousand for every minute,” Taskmaster said to Domino.

“Make it thousand and a half.”

“Another half for every pun he makes.”

“And two thousands for every sexual offer…”

Wade sighed and raised his hands to shut the two mercs up. “Okay. Okay. Here’s the deal: we’re on a delicate rescue mission.” He handed them a picture of Peter.

“Who’s that?” Taskmaster asked.

“My friend, and he’s in trouble.”

“How big?”

“Think forced amnesia. Think control of every aspect of his life. Think _S.H.I.E.L.D._ ”

“The last one is enough.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to be nice and give you a bigger picture. Which, I think, is very generous of me, seeing how you just stole my sidekick from me.”

Taskmaster shrugged. “What can I say, Wilson? He went for a better option.”

Wade had his dagger at Taskmaster’s throat so quickly no one had a chance to react.

“Careful, Tasky… Your photographic reflexes won’t help you when dealing with me…”

“Calm down, guys,” Domino insisted. “I have places to be. The faster we get it over with, the sooner we can leave. Well, I’ll leave, you two can kill each other for all I care.”

Deadpool glared at Taskmaster from behind his mask and collected himself, pocketing the dagger. “Yeah, okay. The way I get this, S.H.I.E.L.D. have some kind of a device they use on him—” He pointed at the picture lying in front of Taskmaster. “—everytime they wanna erase his memories. I need to know everything about it. Where it is, how it works, and if it’s possible to get those memories back. That’s your job.” He raised his arm so his finger was now pointing at Taskmaster. “Another problem is, we – _I_ – lost him. He can be a school teacher named Julius somewhere around Milwaukee for all I know. _You_ gotta find him.” He looked at Domino. “Won’t be easy, but I know you can do it. The trick is to find him without S.H.I.E.L.D. noticing anything, and believe me, he’ll be guarded. Mockingbird, Hawkeye, some low powers associated with S.H.I.E.L.D. Wouldn’t count on Captain America. If you spot any of them, take them out. I’ve enough of them. Any questions?”

“Just one,” Domino said. “Honestly, Deadpool, I don’t see the need of hiring any of us. You could easily do all of this yourself. When was the last time you actually _hired_ somebody?”

Wade smacked his forehead with an open hand. “I forgot about the most important part! Thanks, Dom.” He made a kissy face at her before continuing. “S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t track any of this back to me. If they spot me close to where they’re hiding him, it’ll be their cue to repeat the procedure. They don’t like me very much,” he finished with a pout. Then he straightened up, rubbed his hands and gestured for Weasel to hand him the two suitcases. He set them on the table with a bang. “25k. The rest when we’re done.”

Taking their cue to leave, Domino and Taskmaster stood up, each taking a suitcase, and left Weasel’s apartment.

“Uhm, Wade…” Weasel started when there was just the two of them left, but Wade raised his hand to cut him off, not even turning to look at him.

“Don’t.” He tried to come up with something smart to say, but in vain. “Geez, breaking up is hard.”

He passed by Weasel and entered the kitchen to pour himself some leftover tea. It was lukewarm and he didn’t really want it, but he did it to busy himself with something while trying to not have a serious conversation. Weasel followed him.

“I’ve been wondering, can’t I work for both of you? I have more than enough time…”

“‘Can’t we all just get along?’” Wade mocked. “Really, Weasel? What crazy crap are you on? I’m not having a ménage à trois with Taskmaster.”

Weasel shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, then I’ll go after him. He might need me.”

“Sure, go.” Wade stayed still until he heard the front door open and then close. He set his untouched cup of tea down and folded his arms on his chest, staring out the window. “A better option,” he muttered to himself. He considered destroying Weasel’s video games collection – it’d serve him right – but decided against it. He might still want to borrow them from him sometime.

“Nothing to do here, I’ll better go and check my messages on MercBook,” he said to himself as he went for the exit. “No one’s gonna do it for me anymore.” He locked the door behind himself, hid the key under Weasel’s doormat and left, humming the same cheerful tune under his nose.

 

*

 

Tired of waiting, Wade found himself on a rooftop in San Francisco in an attempt to distract himself with a job. It wasn’t really working, as it was an easy hit: a guy wanted to get rid of his wife… Wade’s heart wasn’t really in it, seeing as the wife certainly didn’t deserve it. He even considered leaving the poor woman alone and killing her husband instead, but then – no money. Unless he approached the wife and demanded a bigger sum for killing him instead. He was entertaining the idea when he got the awaited call from Taskmaster.

“Yello?”

“Why have I ever thought taking a job from you was a good idea?!”

“Aw, what’s the matter, Tasky?” Deadpool asked, not at all perturbed. Taskmaster replied with a heavy sigh.

“Long story short, I got recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. and now _I_ have the faulty memory tech in my brain.”

“But why?” Wade looked through the sight of his assault rifle at his target’s window, but the room was still empty. “Your memory is already as faulty as it gets.”

“Which is how I found out in the first place,” Taskmaster said matter-of-factly. “No reason for me to remember hours of training at a gym. Not to mention I don’t _need_ to go to any gym. You’d think S.H.I.E.L.D. would be smarter than that.”

Wade frowned suddenly as he fully comprehended what Taskmaster just said. “You said it’s in your brain?”

There was a short moment of silence, followed by Taskmaster’s confused, “Yeah. I’ve no idea how I know that, but yes. And it seems to replace actual events with gym training. Logic dictates it is reversible. Knowing S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s a precaution. I am not to know what my mission is unless I’m on the mission. Which actually sucks, get this – do you know where I am? A.I.M. Island. Why? I mean, I’m their Minister of Defense, yeah, I get this – but _why_?”

There was another moment of silence before Taskmaster asked, resigned, “Are you listening?”

“Not really,” Deadpool admitted. “All you’re saying is that you got yourself in some deep shit. Not what I’m paying you for.”

“I’m trying to figure out how the damn device works – which is _exactly_ what you hired me for.”

“Look, all this talk and we still got nothing. You better get some concretes before I decide the best thing to do is to cut out the blasted thing – and trust me, I’m gonna practice it on you first.” Wade hung up and looked at the window once more. The blond head of his client’s wife showed up in his sight. He squinted, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

 

 *

 

Wade hadn’t heard from Taskmaster (nor Domino for that matter) up until next week. This time it was a message at MercBook, what Wade figured was a more secure way of communication than talking on the phone, especially when one was on a mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. while secretly working against them.

 

_To: Deadpool_

_From: Taskmaster_

_I lost touch with Weasel. Can’t find him, it’s like he never even existed. I think he might be in trouble. Thought you’d like to know._

________________________

_Tired of your boss? This one guy won’t leave you alone? Someone crossed you? Book Taskmaster today! 100% satisfaction guaranteed._

Wade raised his would-be eyebrows. This wasn’t the kind of news he was waiting for.

 

_To: Taskmaster_

_From: Deadpool_

_He’s your problem now._

_______________________

_Deadpool – rated Forbes Hottest Mercenary. Only serious offers._

Deadpool closed his laptop and reclined in his armchair, his eyes raising to the TV. Battlestar Galactica was on but silenced, and he wasn’t really watching it anyway. He didn’t even like that show all that much. Why did he leave it on?

Wade turned off the TV and walked around his apartment, pausing only to look inside the fridge. Apart from a bottle of ketchup and a really old cucumber, there was nothing there. Humming one of Gwen Stefani’s songs, he shut the door and dressed up in his civvies before going out for groceries. Usually he did his shopping in one of the stores across the street, but this time he decided to go to a different one. It was half an hour away, but hey, everyone needed variety in their life. It also just so happened that Weasel lived nearby, so Wade resolved he could as well check on him, since he was in the neighborhood. Not that the bastard deserved it… But maybe he could borrow Silent Hill from him while he was at it.

The key to Weasel’s apartment was just where Wade left it the last time. He opened the door and walked into the dusty room, looking around.

“Weasel? I’m only here to take Silent Hill… Which, you know, was _mine_ in the first place. I don’t care you won it in cards, I miss it and I want it back!”

The apartment was empty. In Weasel’s bedroom Wade found his laptop; he turned it on and double-clicked the program that tracked the signal from Weasel’s personal tracking device. Only there was no signal, which could mean only two things: either Weasel never turned it on, what would indicate he wasn’t in any trouble, or…

Or his heart stopped.

Wade slumped on an unmade bed and kept staring at the screen for several more seconds, but the animated icon of a weasel didn’t appear.

“Serves him right…” he muttered under his breath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? I'm not super happy with this chapter, but maybe it's because I kept reading it until I started hating it.
> 
> As always, thank you for your feedback and support.


	4. Hibernation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade opened his eyes. He was in his bed, and he was holding somebody. He slowly made out their features in the dark: short hair, long face, round glasses and a button nose. It certainly wasn’t Peter.  
> “Weasel?” he asked in a croaky voice.  
> “You finally awake?”  
> “What are you doing in my bed?” Wade asked suspiciously. “I thought you were dead. Oh, wait, I know – you’re hiding from Taskmaster! In my bed! Clever.”  
> Weasel rolled his eyes and untangled himself from Wade’s arms and duvet. “Hurry. I have to show you something.”

 

Deadpool eyed a big, white dot he and Taskmaster were walking around. That was certainly the biggest wart he had ever seen.

“That’s one giant amanita!” he commented.

“I’m such a loser,” Taskmaster replied. “I’m a loser so much my latest sidekick ran away from me and is currently hiding.”

For the first time in a while Deadpool didn’t say anything. He agreed with Taskmaster completely and had nothing else to add.

“I’m such a loser,” Taskmaster continued, “I can’t do any job right, so I hired Batman to do it for me.”

Wade frowned; something was wrong with that confession. He didn’t have time to wonder about it though; he suddenly smelt cotton candy. Where it was coming from?

“So that’s why Forbes rates you second best. It’s because you make Batman do all the work for you.”

“Yeah,” Taskmaster admitted mournfully. They passed by a large slug, tall enough to reach Wade’s shoulders, that was lazily eating the mushroom they were walking on. “Be glad I never hired Deathstroke. Then _you_ would be the second best.”

Deadpool stopped in his tracks abruptly and turned to face Taskmaster, whose mask was wearing a smug smirk.

“You….!” He took a little notebook out of one of his pouches and started scribbling something inside furiously.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked curiously.

“Writing your name down in my Death Note!” Deadpool yelled triumphantly.

“Because I suggested that the rip-off is worse than the original? Come on now… If you found out I was the one dating Cable now, then it’d be reasonable—”

Deadpool dropped the booklet.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice so low it resembled a growl.

Taskmaster continued his walk, his white cape brushing the surface of the bright red cap of the amanita. Reluctantly, Wade followed him, leaving the lazy slug behind.

“Now that I mentioned it, I’ve always wanted to get closer to Spider-Man, you know?” Taskmaster continued his confession. “We’ve got a lot in common – both involved with S.H.I.E.L.D., both having memory issues…”

“Wade, you need to wake up.”

Wade looked up in surprise; it was him, Peter Parker, approaching them from ahead.

“The things I could teach him… Skills I could show him… Not only the fighting ones – if you know what I mean…”

Taskmaster’s words made Wade’s blood boil; barely stopping himself from killing him there and then, he reached towards Peter.

“Com’ere, gimme a kiss. Let’s show Tackmaster here where your heart truly lies.”

“Uh… Taskmaster isn’t here, but sure Wade, anytime.”

Wade opened his eyes. He was in his bed, and he was holding somebody. He slowly made out their features in the dark: short hair, long face, round glasses and a button nose. It certainly wasn’t Peter.

“Weasel?” he asked in a croaky voice.

“You finally awake?”

“What are you doing in my bed?” Wade asked suspiciously. “I thought you were dead. Oh, wait, I know – you’re hiding from Taskmaster! In my bed! Clever.”

Weasel rolled his eyes and untangled himself from Wade’s arms and duvet. “Hurry. I have to show you something.”

A folded red and black costume landed on Wade’s lap. Wade yawned, blinking the last of his sleep away.

“Hey, I’m still mad at you!” he realized and felt up his surroundings for any weapons. Weasel had to foresee this and take all of them away, because there weren’t any. Bastard. “And where were you?! I got a tearful mail from Taskmaster – no, not really, he was barely moved, he didn’t give a fuck, not that I gave—”

“Get dressed now, questions later.”

Wade crossed his arms on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I might just kill you. The moment I find my gun. Any gun.”

Weasel sighed. “I get it you’re mad at me. But don’t forget who I’m working for. Tip: it’s the same person _you_ hired.”

Wade let his arms down. “Is it about Spidey?”

“ _Yes._ Now, get dressed. We don’t have much time.”

Quite reluctantly, Wade threw away the duvet that covered him, put his spandex costume on and then followed Weasel out of his apartment and into the street. The sky was still dark and cloudy, and the night was cold. Several gunshots could be heard in the distance, a sound both he and Weasel were well used to ignore. They got in Weasel’s car and drove away.

“Where’re we going?” Wade asked again, watching Weasel closely. For someone who had been apparently in trouble, he looked good, not a scratch on him. Wade squinted. “And where’ve you been?”

“Later, Wade.” Weasel’s head turned his way and he stared at something above his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. “Is it Bea Arthur?”

“What, where?!” Wade turned around quickly to gaze intently into the darkness outside. He heard a quiet click and felt a sting in the back of his neck. “Ow.”

He reached behind and yanked something out of his nape. He looked at it, his vision wavering. Two darts were laying on his palm.

“Whah-huh…?” He tried to blink the black spots away, but they only got bigger.

“I’m sorry, Wade,” he heard Weasel’s voice behind him as his head fell heavily on the headrest.

“Weasel…?” he managed out before darkness swallowed him completely.

When he gained consciousness again, he found himself strapped to a metal chair. Trying to ignore a leftover headache, that was sure to pass soon enough, he took in his surroundings. The room he was in was small and dark, with a metal table and another chair on the other side. He quickly recognized it as an interrogation room, having been in more than one throughout his lifetime.

“Now I remember,” he mumbled. “Bea Arthur is dead, God bless her soul.”

He looked up to register four security cameras, one in every corner.

“Have we set up a safeword?” he asked. “Not that I’d use it so soon, I just believe in consent.”

He didn’t have to wait long – not a minute later, a door he didn’t notice previously opened and in walked… Hawkeye.

“No, no using a safeword,” Deadpool promised, automatically sitting more upright. “You know, if you wanted to ask me out you could just call me. Not that I’m complaining, I appreciate the spontaneity.”

Clint smirked at that. Wade found himself unable to tear his eyes away from those lips.

“Wasn’t my call to make.”

“Whose then?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s.”

No, okay, he should’ve seen this coming. Like, the large S.H.I.E.L.D. logo painted on the wall should’ve given it away.

Hawkeye closed the door behind him and walked up to him, but didn’t sit in the only empty chair; he moved to lean on the table right in front of Deadpool, positioning himself between his legs. He crossed his arms on his chest, his hidden behind purple glasses eyes studying him.

“Do you have an idea why you’re here?”

“You wanna ask me out,” Wade guessed, his throat dry.

“Unfortunately no, that’s not it.”

“You want… me to ask you out?”

Hawkeye sighed. “Look, Deadpool, we caught your little friend snooping around. You won’t be seeing her for a while. We stopped her before some real damage was done, but this is your final warning.”

Deadpool cursed under his breath. “I know what was wrong with that dream! Batman belongs to the other franchise! Shoulda realized right away…”

Hawkeye stared at him, taken aback.

“Right, that reminds me! Weasel!” Wade tried to get up, but the straps held him tight. “What did you do to Weasel? Where is he?!”

Clint’s smug smirk returned. “We didn’t hurt agent Hammer, if that’s what you think.”

Wade stopped struggling and looked up at the hero with the white lenses of his mask wide. “Agent Hammer?”

“In fact, we hired him,” Hawkeye admitted.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! And I’m listening to myself twenty-four seven!” Wade’s hands folded into fists against the armrests. If he wasn’t immobilized, he’d punch Clint’s smirk away.

“Yeah? And how do you think, who brought you here?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, crazy stalker,” Wade growled out. So that was why Weasel was missing, he joined S.H.I.E.L.D.… They must’ve offered him a really good deal, better than Taskmaster’s… And Wade was actually worried for him!

“Who else did you hire?” Hawkeye asked, his face inscrutable and blank once again.

“Nick Fury. Yep. Working for me all this time right under your noses.”

“Who else?” He remained unfazed.

“Agent Venom, but I’m not paying him in cash, if you know what I mean, so I’m not sure if it counts.”

“Okay.” Did he buy it? He couldn’t possibly buy it. “You know, Wilson, both S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers like to play good cop and bad cop.”

“So what, you gonna change our little tête-à-tête into ménage à trois? Can I choose? I want Thor. Can I have Thor?”

“We’re a little short on our Thors right now, so no. But how about that: I’m in a good mood today, so I’m gonna be a good cop… And every time you tell the truth, I’m gonna reward you.” And to indicate what kind of a reward he had in mind, he dragged his foot up the inner side of Wade’s leg until he reached the knee.

Wade blinked several times. This wasn’t happening. This must’ve been a hallucination, or he was still dreaming. He looked around quickly for a reality check; he wasn’t on a giant mushroom, there were no large snails, and no Taskmaster freely admitting he was a loser. Hawkeye also never mentioned Batman and everything else seemed completely normal and real.

This was happening.

Wade considered pros and cons of his current situation. Now, that he put more thought into it, he realized S.H.I.E.L.D. must’ve already known he hired Taskmaster as well. Really, the answer was quite obvious. He could tell the truth they already knew and easily get a reward, no harm in that.

“Taskmaster, I hired Taskmaster.”

Clint leaned in, resting his hands on Wade’s wrists. Wade spread his legs a bit to give him more space without really thinking about it.

“Anybody else?”

“That’s a reward? Lame.”

Clint started leaning back.

“No, no, okay, come back. I kinda liked it. Even if it was lame.”

“Answer the question.”

“I just hired the two of them. How much money you think I have? Hiring a small legion of mercs would be a little overdoing it, wouldn’t it? While we’re at it, how many agents do you have? Do you really need more so much you steal other people’s lackeys?”

“What did they tell you?”

“Not so fast, tiger. My reward first.”

Clint leaned in once again and raised an eyebrow.

“Not much. I know about your little device you plant in people’s brains, and that Taskmaster has one. Let me tell you, that’s a dick move, to mess with other people’s brains. But you already know that, don’t you?” Wade smirked beneath his mask and lowered his voice. “You don’t like what they did one bit. You may blame me for what happened, but really you know none of this is my fault. And guess what, I’m tired of being everybody’s scapegoat.”

“You’re wrong.” Clint was still leaning in, his face only inches away, but he lost his cool. It assured Wade that he was, in fact, right.

“Liar,” he whispered. “What, they’re listening? You have a little device in your brain as well? Scared they’re gonna modify not only your memories, but something more? Strip you from your morals, worldviews, steal your life away?”

Clint straightened up, his face still inscrutable, but his muscles were visibly more tensed and moves stiffer than before. This interrogation wasn’t going as planned.

“Hey, I answered your question. What happened to my reward?”

But Clint left his position between Wade’s legs and walked around him. Wade was about to whine some more, but then he felt hands on his nape and upper back, massaging his muscles.

“Oh, oh – that’s good,” he almost moaned as he closed his eyes.

“You’ve been here four hours.”

“I never knew a drug could knock me out for so long.” Wade decided against explaining that it wasn’t so much his back hurt, because his healing factor wouldn’t let his muscles get tired for another four hours at least, if at all, but rather that he hadn’t been touched for a good while.

“What else do you know? Did Domino contact you?”

“No, she never did. I don’t know anything else.”

“Good. Now, listen to me. S.H.I.E.L.D. is done playing with you. The chip we planted in Taskmaster and used to modify Spider-Man’s memories? It’s in your brain now, too. Make one move, Wilson – one, shady move – and we’re deleting everything. And I mean _everything_. Do you copy?”

Wade sat still at that revelation, any confidence and satisfaction draining from him faster than Quicksilver could run. Clint’s fingers tightened on his shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises.

“Do you copy?”

“Yes,” Wade choked out. The next moment, he felt a familiar sting in his neck. “Ohhh, that’s my next reward? You’re full of shit, Hawkeye.”

He watched the black and purple smudge leave the room silently before blacking out once again.

When he woke up, he was lying in some bushes in Central Park, twigs hurting his skin and ruining his suit. He scrambled to his feet and fell on the nearest bench, feeling hungover. The sky was dark, and none of the lampposts were on, so he guessed it was still early – three, maybe four o’clock. Too early for Daredevil or any other street hero to find him and cause trouble. He sighed. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t even bother to give him a ride home, they just dropped him in goddamn New York.

He looked down on his faulty teleporter and felt anger wash over him; all this was Weasel’s fault! He brought him straight into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hungry jaws for them to plant a fucking _brain-messing_ chip! Like if his brain wasn’t already messed up enough, thank you very much. He took his belt with the teleporter off, threw it on the ground and stepped on it, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He felt slightly satisfied when it cracked and hissed, pieces of glass spraying around on the ground.

Something cold and wet fell on his nose. He looked up – it began snowing.

“FUCK!” he cried when he realized what he just did – he was discarded in New York at some ungodly hour and now he didn’t even have an unreliable teleporter to try and get home! Smooth Wilson, real smooth. How do you even stay alive with this level of stupidity? Oh, right – healing factor.

With his shoulders slumped, he dragged his feet to the closest underground station.

 

* 

 

When he became Forbes hottest mercenary, people asked him, how did he do that? He didn’t always succeed. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box. Sure, he had help. Weasel was the best tech guy in the market – no wonder first Taskmaster, then S.H.I.E.L.D. put their paws on him. But in the end, Wade could get a job done with the simplest rifle and a couple of explosives (and the explosives were usually only for visual effects, too). So how did he do it?

Easy. He never gave up.

But this morning found him sitting on a sticky floor of his bathroom, still in his ruined suit and drinking chocolate milk, feeling defeated. Not only he lost his last chance to get Peter back; he also lost Bob, who ran away God knew where, the mercs he hired were both compromised and had their memories modified, and Weasel… Wade squeezed his plastic cup until it cracked, streamlets of chocolate milk running down his fingers. Weasel betrayed him, twice. Taskmaster he could take, really, if Weasel preferred to work for a lamer boss, so be it, Wade even pitied him a little. But S.H.I.E.L.D…. S.H.I.E.L.D. was enemy.

“Maybe I shoulda treat him better—no!” He threw the cup against the wall, blinking when drops of chocolate milk hit him in the face. “He didn’t deserve better treatment!”

Weasel got him into this mess with the brain chip. Wade couldn’t trust his memories before – now? He could wake up one day without knowing who he was, just because S.H.I.E.L.D. felt like it. He lay down on the cold floor, hugging his knees close to his chest, watching brooks of chocolate milk travel down the wall to form a small puddle.

He was defeated.

 

*

 

“You haven’t unpacked yet?”

Gaylord looked up at his so called best friend from his laptop. “Good morning to you too, Phil.”

Phil walked by the carton boxes stacked up against the wall to take a seat beside him on a couch.

“So,” he started casually, “what do you think?”

“About what?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. S.H.I.E.L.D., are you gonna give them a call?”

“I don’t know,” Gaylord admitted, looking away. “I’m not sure I’m the kind of person they’re looking for.”

“You’re exactly the kind of person they’re looking for. You’re a great fighter. They need people like you right now. All you need is a short training to become a perfect S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“Mmm.” He fiddled with his spider charm, his eyes fixed on the screen of the laptop. Phil peeked behind his shoulder; the tab was opened on the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s site. He smirked under his nose.

“And I showed them your resume, and they want you.”

Gaylord turned slowly to face him. “You did _what?_ ”

He only smiled smugly in response.

“How could you do that behind my back! Maybe I wasn’t ready!”

“Nonsense, you’re more than ready. You’ve always been telling me how you don’t wanna work in a fitness club for the rest of your life, that you wanna be a part of something bigger. This is your chance.”

Gaylord was still glaring at him, but it was getting harder for him to suppress a smile. When he lowered his head to hide his face, Phil knew he was no longer angry.

“Give them a call tonight. I can’t wait to work with you.”

When Gaylord looked up at him again, he was grinning unashamedly. He punched him playfully in the shoulder.

“You’re a dick,” he said. “Partner.”

“Coffee?”

He nodded, his gaze returning to the screen of the laptop, as he began to look for a contact page. Phil got up and walked into the small kitchen. Most of the cutlery, mugs and pans remained unpacked but the coffee machine occupied an honorary place in the middle of a countertop. He closed the door carefully and turned his comm on.

“Control? This is Cheese. He’s ready.”

 

* 

 

_Where are you?_

Gaylord sent the text and kept his phone in hand, waiting for a reply. He was supposed to meet Phil at the entrance to the Helicarrier fifteen minutes ago. He smoothed out his black jacket nervously as two strangers dressed in grey uniforms passed by. They stared at him but didn’t stop to bother him.

“You lost?”

He spun around, looking for the owner of the gruff voice, but he was alone in the corridor. Suddenly somebody _dropped from the ceiling,_ making him yelp and jump away hurriedly.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” said the person, fully dressed up in a black and white uniform, with a symbol of a spider on their chest.

“Agent Venom, right?” he asked right after collecting himself.

“In the flesh.” Agent Venom extended his hand, which he shook uncertainly.

“I’m Gaylord Montgomery.”

“Nice to meet you,” his voice wavered, his name surprising him. “You seem lost, can I be of any help?”

“Actually, yes. Do you know Phil Coulson? He was supposed to meet me here, introduce me to Director Johnson, but he’s running late.”

“Coulson?” Venom cocked his head. “He left early in the morning. Some mission I’m not supposed to know about. But, I can show you to Johnson’s office.”

“Oh.” Gaylord wasn’t sure if he could meet the director without Phil there with him, but he did have an appointment. It shouldn’t be a problem. “Okay, then.”

He followed Venom into the corridor.

“So, you must be the new guy.”

“Is there gossip already?”

“Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Everyone’s excited to meet you.”

“Then everybody’s gonna be disappointed. I’m not an exciting person. I’m not even a part of your crew just yet.”

“Look, I know for certain they want you here. You decide about being the part of us.”

They stopped in front of the massive door. “Director’s office,” read the sign.

“Well, thank you,” Gaylord said. Venom saluted him, already walking away.

“I’ll see you around. I sense we’re gonna be fast friends.”

Gaylord couldn’t help a small smile as he knocked on the door before carefully pushing it open. A young, dark-haired lady sat behind a wooden desk, typing something on a laptop. Her uniform was white, unlike the other agents’.

“Director Johnson?” he asked uncertainly; the woman looked like a high-schooler, not a head of an international intelligence agency. She looked up and almost immediately jumped to her feet.

“Yes. Yes, please, come in. Have a seat.” She gestured to one of the sofas standing in a middle of the room. She herself left her desk to sit on the other side.

“What can I tell you?” she wondered when they were both sitting comfortably. “We’ve been waiting for someone like you. Everything’s ready for your admission. All you need to do is say yes, and sign some papers, of course. You’re familiar with our work?”

Gaylord nodded. “Yes, yes I am.”

“Rest assured, you’re gonna get full insurance.” They discussed other things, like payment and schedule, before Gaylord finally made a decision and took the job. The more he talked to director Johnson, the more excited he became to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Phil was right – this was the opportunity he was waiting for. His chance to become somebody that mattered.

The two shook each other’s hands at the end of the meeting. When they exited the office, they saw Phil Coulson standing outside, waiting for them.

“You’re here,” he addressed Gaylord. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

He smiled at the thumbs up that Johnson gave him behind Gaylord’s back.

“It’s fine,” Gaylord assured him.

“Let me at least walk you to the exit. Director.” He nodded at Johnson and Gaylord turned around to bid her goodbye as well before they left the corridor.

 

*

 

Gaylord took a seat in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cafeteria and uncovered his plastic cup to look suspiciously at the watery brown liquid inside. He asked for coffee, but what he got instead didn’t either look nor smell like it and he was ninety nine percent sure it wouldn’t taste like it either.

“Good morning.”

He looked up in surprise to watch Agent Venom fall in a chair in front of him. He didn’t even ask if he could join him – he just did. He decided he liked it about him – people usually stirred clear from him. Not that it bothered him. He enjoyed solitude, but casually hanging out with Venom was a nice change.

“I thought you’d like some actual coffee.” He handed him one of the plastic cups he was holding in his hands. It had Starbucks’s logo on it. “I hope you like black americano.”

“That’s my favorite, actually,” Gaylord said, not without a surprise. “You really just bought me coffee?”

“Sure. Welcome to the crew.”

“You’re so kind.” He smiled.

“You’re saying that now. Soon enough you’ll find out he’s an asshole.”

They looked at the newcomer, a tall, blue-eyed blond, who slumped in a chair beside Venom, who rolled his eyes.

“Agent, meet Clint Barton – the most unfunny superhero on the planet,” Venom introduced with a note of annoyance in his voice. “Where’s Nat? Why aren’t you bothering her?”

Gaylord watched Clint’s face closely – it felt oddly familiar. Maybe he had seen him on television before?

“Hey, it’s not my ‘jokes’ that people complain about. And Nat and I aren’t inseparable, you know,” Clint bit back before extending his hand to shake Gaylord’s. “You may know me as Hawkeye, but you can call me Clint.”

“Gaylord Montgomery,” he replied.

“That’s a long name,” Clint noticed. “No offence, but people will rather call you ‘agent’ here. Get used to it.”

“Oh.” Gaylord wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“So, how’s your first day going?” Venom was quick to change the subject.

“Good, actually. Everybody is so nice and welcoming, I managed not to fuck up just yet, and I just got a very good coffee.” Gaylord smiled and took a sip. “I didn’t expect it to go so well, to be honest.”

“We’re all nice people here. Well, most of us.” Clint leaned in and lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Maria Hill is a total psycho, if you ask me. She really doesn’t like it when you tell her ‘no.’ But don’t tell anyone I told you that.”

Venom just scoffed at that, but Gaylord felt creeps on his back.

“Actually, I’m supposed to meet Hill after lunch,” he said uneasily. “And I don’t even know _where_.”

Clint and Venom exchanged glances, but help came from someone entirely else.

“I can show you to her office, if you’d like.”

They all turned to look at a scrawny, brown-haired agent that paused at their table. He shifted nervously. “I’m sorry, I was just passing by and thought I could help. I’m Jack Hammer.”

Gaylord introduced himself as well and thanked him. The three of them silently watched as agent Hammer walked away towards a table in the far corner.

“Well, there’s Maria Hill,” Venom said quietly, “and there’s this guy.”

Gaylord finally teared his eyes away from the scrawny agent to look at his new friend. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he used to be a criminal, and not that long ago. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “He’s been here for months. S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn’t hire him if they didn’t have reasons to trust him. People change, you know.” He sounded a bit hurt. Gaylord thought that perhaps he used to be a criminal himself.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.’s desperate,” Venom corrected, making Gaylord’s stomach fall. “They were just rebuilt, they lack in men. And they didn’t exactly trust him from the start. He began as a part of the clean-up crew before they let him into the labs. Not to mention he was a known friend of Deadpool. S.H.I.E.L.D. is crazy to trust him.”

“Who’s Deadpool?” Gaylord asked. Clint kicked Venom under the table.

“Ow! Clint, watch your feet…”

“Just another criminal,” Clint replied quickly before Venom managed to add anything else. “S.H.I.E.L.D.’s wanted. Nobody really important.” He grabbed Venom’s shoulder. “We should be going. Have a nice day.”

Venom grumbled something under his breath as Clint lead him out of the cafeteria, but waved at Gaylord, who finished his coffee and looked at Jack Hammer. He was still sitting at his table, alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you like Peter's new name? Personally, I think it was a rare moment of brilliance on my part.
> 
> Thank you for your feedback.


	5. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, really, man, what’re we here for? You’re breaking my brain.”  
> “There’s nothing left to break, I’m afraid.” Hawkeye shook his head to himself. “Okay, listen. I recently learnt what Spider-Man got suspended for. Thought you’d like to know.” A topless Hawkeye was now flexing his biceps. The view made it hard for Wade to focus on his words.  
> “Apparently I was the reason?”

 

Gaylord was still thinking about his first task given to him by Maria Hill as he headed towards the men’s restroom at the end of his first day as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. However, a familiar voice brought him back to reality before he managed to reach the door.

 “—and what kinda name is ‘Gaylord’, anyway?”

He stopped in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat at the sound of his name. He looked around and his eyes fell on a door leading to men’s restroom. It was ajar.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re asking me? You’re the one who said it was too long!”

Those must have been Agent Venom and Hawkeye behind that door. Gaylord pursed his lips. He thought they liked him, but apparently they were just making fun of him. Well, whatever, he could do just fine without them, he didn’t need their approval. He should probably walk away and not eavesdrop on a private conversation, but he was also tempted to stay and listen some more.

“Well, they _were_ creative with it. But what’s the harm?”

 “What’s the harm? _It’s not his name!_ It’s not real! His life isn’t real, his friends aren’t real. They told us he’d be back, but they lied, because he’s most certainly not back!”

Gaylord frowned. What…?

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down.”

There was a moment of silence during which Gaylord let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. None of it made sense. Maybe they weren’t talking about him. Yeah, they must have been talking about somebody else named Gaylord. He turned to leave, but then he heard Hawkeye’s voice again.

“I know it’s hard. You think I like this? He’s convinced he just met me. What if he won’t like me? I can’t stop thinking about it. I lose sleep over it. Believe me, his name or the lack of his lame quips aren’t the problems I have with him. Just because he acts a little different doesn’t necessarily mean his personality changed, too – I’m sure it didn’t. What really matters stayed the same.”

There was someone walking his way at the other side of the corridor. He began walking away, slowly, not wanting to be caught awkwardly listening in. If Venom ever responded to Hawkeye’s words, whatever they were supposed to mean, he didn’t hear it.

When the agent that interrupted his eavesdropping got closer, he recognized him – it was Jack Hammer.

“Hey.” Hammer paused in order to talk to him, so he did, too. “You’re finished?”

“Yeah, I was just going home.” He still didn’t know what to think about Hammer. Venom claimed he wasn’t a nice person, but he hadn’t been anything but so far.

“How was your first day?”

Gaylord shrugged. “It was fine.”

“If you ever need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Hammer nodded awkwardly before asking, “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

With awkward, polite smiles, they split up, continuing on their own ways.

 

*

 

“ _I can be your hero, baby!”_ Wade sang as he waited on his blood-crusted couch for his limbs to grow back. " _I can kiss away the pain…_ ”

He was interrupted by his ringtone. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Ever since he was captured by S.H.I.E.L.D., nothing seemed to go his way. He had just ran into a blasted Moon Knight on his job, and had his ass epically handed to him, and now he didn’t even have a hand to take a goddamn call!

“Fuck my life,” he mumbled as he tried to press the right button on the screen with his big toe. He almost fell from the couch.

“Fuck!”

The phone ceased ringing and he sighed, closing his eyes again. Couldn’t he just die already?

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Ann Winsborn’s “Everything I Do” seeping from the speaker of his phone once again. He braced himself before reaching out with his only limb anew. This time he managed to hit the right button.

“Hello?!” he called out, his voice tight, while trying to turn on the speaker.

“Sat, 2000 hours, Break Loose,” he heard and frowned. The voice was low and familiar. “Ask for arrows.”

“Okay,” he said. He finally hit the speaker button with his toe, but the caller hung up. “Okay, yeah, sure. That didn’t sound fishy at all.”

 

* 

 

Break Loose was Chicago’s place to be after Hellhouse closed. It was run by a criminal called Hedonist, who was known for his passion for pleasures of the body. The pub was always flooded with various villains and other shady characters. It was also probably the only place in Chicago that wasn’t covered in Christmas decorations in December. Wade himself went there rather often, even though the patrons weren’t always appreciative of his company.

On Saturday at eight the place was full and lively. Wade got through the crowd to the bar, behind which Hedonist himself was standing. He greeted him with a grin.

“Wade! The usual for you?”

“I’m here for arrows today.”

Hedonist’s smile faded. “Seven.”

Wade thanked him with a nod and went straight for the staircase leading to dark rooms. He already had an idea who “arrows” was and Hedonist’s reaction reassured him. Who’d want a flippin’ S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in their villain pub?

“You’re sending mixed signals, you know,” he said as he entered Room 7. The lights were on; sure enough, on the other side, just beside a double bed covered with ruined, dark red sheets, Hawkeye was leaning against the wall. “First you pierce me with an arrow, then you give me a massage, then you threaten me and now this.” Wade gestured towards the bed. “What’s your game?”

“Close the door.”

Wade obeyed and approached Clint, his hand automatically resting on the gun in his thigh-holster. “Okay, I geddit. You’re into this whole sub/dom dynamic. You mighta missed it, but we still didn’t set a safeword.”

“You’re not gonna make it easy, are you?”

“Make what easy, setting a safeword? I usually go for ‘safeword’. That’s easy if you ask me.”

“I’m here because you were right.”

“About marshmallow bars? Yep, they need to happen.”

Hawkeye sighed heavily and looked at the ceiling. “They already happened.”

The white lenses of Deadpool’s mask widened comically. “They did?! Where was I when that happened?!”

“I’m starting to regret calling you.” Hawkeye sat on the bed heavily. “Have a sit.”

At this point Wade’s brain fried and all he was able to utter was, “Woah, man.”

Hawkeye made himself comfortable on the red sheets and started undressing, what Wade was pretty sure was a hallucination. He tried to blink it away, but no such luck.

“No, really, man, what’re we here for? You’re breaking my brain.”

“There’s nothing left to break, I’m afraid.” Hawkeye shook his head to himself. “Okay, listen. I recently learnt what Spidey got suspended for. Thought you’d like to know.” A topless Hawkeye was now flexing his biceps. The view made it hard for Wade to focus on his words.

“Apparently I was the reason?”

“Sort of. You need to know about something. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secret jail named Pleasant Hill.”

“Doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

“Yeah, I got the creepy vibe, too,” Clint admitted. “Not for nothing. The jail functions as a small town the prisoners can’t escape. And the prisoners themselves, dangerous criminals like Baron Zemo, have their whole persona modified. Appearance, personality, identity… They forget everything they once were and become the Stepford wives.”

“I’m sorry, but could you punch me?”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m having those visions, and I think that could help.”

“You’re having visions,” he repeated skeptically.

“That’s what I said! Just punch me already!”

Wade watched as Hawkeye raised graciously and walked up to him, swaying his hips seductively. Then he took a swing and the next moment Wade found himself on a floor with one side of his face throbbing. He moved his jaw experimentally, then tilted his head to look at Clint. He was back to normal, fully dressed and not trying to look seductive at all.

“You were saying?” Wade got up, rubbing his jaw. Clint sighed and sat back on the bed.

“Spider-Man helped to build Pleasant Hill. I don’t question his motives, maybe he believed in it. Maybe he didn’t know the power Maria Hill used to create it is very unstable. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that one day Hill thought that locking you up in there was the idea of the year. When she ordered Spidey to arrest you, he refused.”

Wade stayed silent. Hawkeye stared at him expectantly, but no response came, so he continued.

“The implant you have in your head.” He pointed at his own temple. “Some of us have it, too. I have it. He has it. It comes with blank slate jobs.” His voice turned bitter. “But something happened to mine. I shouldn’t remember all this.”

Wade sat down on the bed beside him, his muscles visibly tensed. “Why are you here?” he asked, facing away.

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. is abusing their power, and not only with Pleasant Hill. They had no right to do to Spider-Man basically the same thing they’re doing to those prisoners. Yesterday it was him, tomorrow it might be me, Captain America next week. You had a plan, right? To undo all this?”

“Not really. It was just a research and improvise kinda thing. Which is my jam, but I also fuck up a lot. I am a risk taker, but when it’s someone that matters…”

Clint was taken aback by Deadpool’s sudden seriousness. People usually described him as a moron with a cringeworthy sense of humor. He also didn’t make a good first impression, but it became clear there was more to the merc than met the eye. Maybe one day he would understand what Webhead saw in him. Eventually.

“Well, I’m here to help.”

Wade finally turned to look at him, his face usually easy to read through the mask indecipherable. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I’m gonna get in trouble.” Wade frowned. “Now that I thought of it, if you wanted to arrest me, why didn’t you last week when you had me?”

“Ah. That.” Clint looked away sheepishly. “I almost forgot to warn you. See, Hill likes to make a point. Spider-Man was rehired again, but he still doesn’t remember who he was. His first mission is to arrest you.”

“What? When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?!” Wade jumped to his feet, holding his head. “I need a plan! Quick!”

“Research and improvise?” Hawkeye suggested uncertainly. Wade snapped his fingers and pointed at him.

“Good one. Hey, any chance you’re looking for a new job? I have a vacant position for a lackey.”

 

* 

 

Wade didn’t know why he was surprised at the sight of a sleeping Weasel. It was a middle of the night, and he did just break into his bedroom. For some reason he just didn’t expect him.

He approached the bed soundlessly to hover over the small figure buried under Battlestar Galatica sheets. He could kill him. Weasel wouldn’t even realize. Wouldn’t manage to make a single sound, snap his eyes open to look his murderer in the face before the last breath left his lungs.

Wade turned away, shaking his head to himself. Not the time for little pleasures. He quickly identified Weasel’s closet containing his various tech. He tried to be quiet while rummaging through it, but it was near impossible. Wade never was a careful person to begin with, so of course he had to drop something. The unfamiliar device crashed on the floor, screws and other parts spraying around. He froze when he heard a click behind his back. Slowly, he turned around.

Weasel was sitting upright, a gun in his hand. He still didn’t have his glasses on, what forced him to squint in order to see better.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. already know you’re here,” he warned, his voice thin.

“Oh, yeah? And what do they care?” Wade mocked. “You’re not precious to them.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’re not precious to anybody. Taskmaster dumped you the moment it got ugly. _Galactus_ could break into your room right now but S.H.I.E.L.D. would care more about finishing their patience session than rushing to help you. Not that Galactus cares that much for you. He doesn’t know who you are.”

“ _I_ dumped Taskmaster. I was working for him under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s orders.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me, Weasel, how long exactly have you been fraternizing with an enemy?” Wade’s hand went for the gun strapped to his right thigh, but Weasel made a warning sound.

“Stop right there or I’ll shoot, I swear.”

“And what good will it do you?”

Weasel swallowed thickly, knowing the answer was nothing. Wade couldn’t be stopped by a bullet, nor six of them. A well-aimed shot to the skull could save him up to ten seconds, not more. Maybe it was something he could work with, but the problem was he never was a good shot. True, he had always found his way out of many crappy situations before, but against Wade he was defenseless.

“I’d love to stay and chat,” Wade said when the silence between them drew on. “And we have _a lot_ to chat about – but I don’t have time for this. I need a teleporter.”

Weasel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re here for a teleporter?” He slowly clicked the safety and let his hand fall. “What happened to yours?”

Wade grunted unhappily. “I lost it,” he mumbled.

“You can take mine. It’s in the desk.”

Wade reached the desk in one step and took a belt with his logo on it out of the drawer. He swallowed down a bitter taste in his mouth, set the co-ordinates and put it on.

“So… you’re on a job?” Weasel tried for a casual tone.

“On a personal vendetta.” Wade jumped on a windowsill, but turned his head to take a last look at his ex-bud. “And don’t worry, I am coming for you.”

He savored the completely terrified look on Weasel’s face even after he left his bedroom and appeared in another one, hundreds of miles away.

The bedroom he found himself in was meager but cozy, with a wooden desk covered completely in various books, a small closet, two comfortable, dark green armchairs and a narrow bed that was currently occupied by a tall, dark-haired adolescent. Wade stood still for a few moments, listening in for any alarms of Jean Grey School’s defenses, but the Mansion remained silent. Glad he avoided detection, Wade approached the bed and shook the girl’s shoulder.

“Is it morning yet?” the girl mumbled in a rough voice, her eyes still closed.

“No. I need your help.”

The girl frowned, still not opening her eyes, but she must have recognized Wade with his powers, because the constant pain his skin was in ceased suddenly, like always when she was around.

“Yeah, something more than that this time, Warhead.”

Negasonic Teenage Warhead sat up in her bed finally. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, noting with somewhat of a surprise that it was still night.

“Hey, Wade, what’s up?” she asked and cleared her throat.

“It’s a long story.”

“And it stops you since when?”

Wade smirked in amusement. “Yeah, I’m somewhat in a hurry. Long story short, I have a memory implant in my brain. Can you, uh… Look into it?”

Warhead raised her eyebrows, but didn’t ask any more questions. She and Wade weren’t exactly close, especially that the X-Men barely tolerated his presence, but she knew the merc well enough to be only a little surprised.

“You might want to go to a more experienced telepath with this,” she said before scanning his brain.

“Point me to one that’d willingly put up with me.”

“Touché.”

They stayed silent for a while, during which Warhead searched Wade’s brain for the chip.

“Got it,” she said. “Okay, this is weird. It’s not really doing anything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not sending nor receiving any waves. It’s not able to interact with your brainwaves. It’s just… a piece of metal. A dummy, if you will.”

Huh. That was an unexpected turn of events. 

“Good. That’s good. Thank you.”

“Who chipped you?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?” her eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Told you, long story.” Wade looked out the window. The sky was paling, the clouds reflecting the first orange rays of sunrise. “I know it’s a school day, but how do you feel about helping me kick some asses?”

Warhead looked away uneasily. “I don’t know, Wade. I can get in trouble.”

“What trouble? You’ll make Kitty Pryde or whoever’s running this school these days feel those warm fuzzies for you—”

“Ew, that’s appalling!” she protested rapidly.

“Aw, don’t act like it’s beneath you.”

“It is beneath me,” she mumbled under her breath and sighed heavily. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

 

*

 

Break Loose was always open, no matter the time, even if Hedonist was dying of a hangover on a countertop. Their eyes had to attune to the dark interior when Wade and Negasonic Teenage Warhead walked in out of a sunny street. The pub was quiet and mostly empty, sans for three women sitting at the bar and Hedonist standing behind it. He barely looked up at the newcomers.

“Mornin’,” he said while pouring himself coffee.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. will crash this place in about fifteen minutes,” Wade replied. Hedonist almost dropped his coffee pot.

“What?!” he demanded as Wade and Warhead sat at the bar next to the ladies. Deadpool ignored him and turned to the ladies.

“Drinking already? It’s not even noon yet,” he said. The brunette in a white and green costume sitting right beside him looked at him reluctantly.

“Sayz you,” she mumbled.

“Ah, what the hell. It’s as good time as any for two margaritas.”

“Is she of age?” Hedonist asked, pointing at Warhead.

“Eer…”

“Don’t get so tight, Hedonist here is joking. He doesn’t care, he’s a bad guy.”

“No, he’s right,” Warhead said with her cheeks slightly pink. “I shouldn’t drink.”

“Stick in a mud,” Deadpool mumbled. “Besides, the two margaritas were for me.”

Hedonist swiped a bottle of tequila with a lazy move. He looked at the ladies. “You heard the man, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gonna be there. For some reason.” He glared at Deadpool. “You might wanna skedaddle.”

“Don’ care,” the woman with magenta-dyed hair said. “They got nothin’ on us. It’s been months since we had a gig, ever since Asp won that money.”

“The man,” the brunette at the far end snorted.

“Hey! What was that supposed to mean?” Deadpool pointed at her accusingly.

But the brunette turned to Hedonist, looking like she was about to reveal a big secret. And also like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

“He wears women’s underwear.”

The girls burst into laugh while Deadpool sat with his arms crossed, pouting beneath his mask.

“Kink shaming is a very bad thing to do, I’ll have you know,” he said when the laughter quietened.

“Well, we’re B.A.D. Girls,” Magenta Hair said. “We do bad things. Like, it’s in the name.”

“Wait, Wade, you know them?” Warhead asked.

“Unfortunately,” Wade grumbled. “That’s Asp, Diamondback and the one at the far end is Black Mamba and you don’t wanna rub her the wrong way. Only the right way. If you know what I mean.” He ducked when an empty glass flew his way.

“Hey!” Hedonist protested. “Brawls outside! Apropos S.H.I.E.L.D.—”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that all the mercs know each other,” Deadpool continued matter-of-factly, paying no heed to the irritated bartender.

“True,” Diamondback said. “Which leads me to a conclusion you’re not one. Who are you?”

“She’s with me,” Deadpool replied quickly before Warhead managed to say something stupid, like “I’m an X-Man.” He faked casualty by playing with his knife in a universal sign for “fuck off.” “Not your business.”

“You know what weirds me out?” Asp asked. She was definitely the most wasted one. “She’s surprised Deadpool knows us, but not that he wears girly panties.” She chuckled and looked straight at Warhead. “You weird me out,” she said seriously. Warhead didn’t answer.

Hedonist put down a glass of margarita in front of Wade. “Do I get my answers or not?”

Wade looked at his nonexistent watch. “We’ve got two minutes.” He glanced up at Warhead.   
“You better hide. In the loo or something.”

She stood up unsurely.

“On your left,” Hedonist said helpfully. Warhead found the right door with a black circle on it and walked inside.

“It stinks in here,” they heard her say.

“Well, it’s the loo, what did you expect?!” Hedonist was a bit annoyed that somebody dared to complain about his pub.

“Shaddup,” Wade added. “And don’t come out until I tell you.”

He raised the bottom of his mask, hooked it up on his nose and sipped his drink. No one was surprised when the door flew open and four people walked in.

“Wade Wilson, you are under arrest,” said the silvery voice that not so long ago was laughing at his jokes. “Put your hands up and come quietly.”

“One popcorn!” Asp raised a five dollar bill.

“I only have nachos, I told you,” Hedonist said.

“Nachos!” Asp agreed.

Hedonist went to the back to prepare nachos. Nick Fury, Phil Coulson and Gaylord Montgomery frowned. Deadpool still didn’t move.

“Wilson?”

“Hey, Wilson, you deaf?!” Fury yelled.

“Hey!” Clint Barton protested.

Wade turned around on his stool so quickly the agents froze. He was pointing two guns at them.

“Put the guns down,” Peter demanded. He was also aiming at him. Clint raised and drew his loaded bow, but he was too slow; Wade shot him to the ground.

“Control, Hawkeye’s down,” Coulson said. “Send reinfor—”

“Oh, shut up.” Deadpool opened fire, and so did Fury and Peter. Unfortunately for them, this did nothing to stop him, or even slow him down. On the other hand, his bullet grazed Coulson’s neck and another two buried deep inside his chest. He stumbled to the ground. Another bullet hit Fury’s shooting hand, making him drop the gun. He cried in pain, holding his injured hand with the good one. Deadpool was sure it was missing a few fingers.

“Damn, you’re good,” he hissed. Peter ran out of ammunition and reached for a stun gun in his thigh-holster, but then Wade raised his hands, his palms open, his guns now pointed up, held by only a finger and a thumb. Peter took it as a sign of surrender, so he paused.

“Oh my god, what a pussy,” Diamondback commented.

“I know right,” Black Mamba added, dipping her nachos in hot sauce.

“I don’t geddit,” Asp complained. “He killed two guyz, no? Then why’s he givin’ up like a total puzzy?” She hiccupped.

“Isn’t one of them Hawkeye?”

“Yes, he is.” Black Mamba seemed unconcerned.

“Too bad. He was cute.” Despite this little drawback, Diamondback was definitely enjoying the show.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Deadpool said, ignoring the B.A.D. Girls. “You have no idea how good I am.” He breathed in, hoping Warhead was ready. “ _Reverie._ ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm messing up the timeline horribly by suddenly throwing Pleasant Hill in there. You just have to bear with me.
> 
> I admit I had mixed feelings about making Peter use guns, but S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't exactly tell him that now he's Spider-Man. He had to be treated like any other agent.
> 
> We're coming to an end. There's only one chapter and an epilogue left - I'm gonna post both at once during the next two weeks.


	6. Collateral Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you?” he asked.  
> The man finally turned to face him. He noticed a handful of bullet holes in his costume on his chest. His skin was uneven, covered in scars. He tried not to stare.  
> “Deadpool,” the masked man answered. “I’m a friend.”  
> He nodded. He figured out the last one. “Who am I?” That was equally important.  
> “Agent Peter Parker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 12/26/16: This chapter is now corrected. I don't know what my brain was doing when I sent Clint with a bullet wound in his chest to run around the city, but it certainly wasn't logical thinking.

 

Wade and Fury watched as Peter spaced out, then blinked. His eyes focused on Deadpool and recognition showed on his face. Seeing it, Wade smiled beneath his mask, slightly lowering his arms.

But Fury saw it, too.

“Reverie,” he said and Peter spaced out again, his face becoming blank. Deadpool’s heart skipped a bit. Warhead was supposed to jam his memory implant, but apparently she didn’t have enough time.

“Reverie,” he repeated. Fury reacted even faster.

“Reverie! Stop it maniac, you’re going to break him!”

“You’re the only ones breaking him,” Deadpool countered. “Reverie. Goddammit, Warhead, hurry up!”

But it was too late. Seeing two strange, armed man, Peter took few steps back, until his heel bumped into Clint’s body. He gasped. Realizing he was holding a gun, he raised it and aimed, first at Fury, then at Wade and back, not sure which one was dangerous to him.

“Who are you?! Why am I here?” he asked, his voice trembling. A look of horror crossed Fury’s face before he glared at Deadpool. _See what you did?!_

“Calm down—” Wade took a step forward and that was Peter’s cue to leave. He ran out the door, not looking behind his back.

“Wait!” Fury followed him, but before he even reached the door, an arrow hit him in the back; his body jerked like he was electrocuted and he collapsed to the ground, stunned.

“Wait, so Hawkeye’s alive?” Diamondback asked.

Hawkeye was still lying on the ground. “I thought we agreed on rubber bullets,” he miffed, dropping his bow and pressing his hand to his wound. Deadpool had shot him right below his left collarbone, precisely omitting any internal organs.

“I mixed up my guns.” Deadpool shrugged.

“How do you ever succeed at anything?!” Hawkeye snapped. Deadpool rubbed his chin, thinking.

“Well, it was always Weasel who—” he trailed off and frowned suddenly.

“Warhead, you can come out,” he said after a while. “What the hell happened there?”

Negasonic Teenage Warhead left the restroom in relief, but she tensed at the sight of Hawkeye’s pale and unhappy face.

“Finding Hawkeye’s implant took me too much time,” she explained. “And only to find out it was already deactivated.”

“Right,” Clint said. “That’s why nothing happened to me when you said the trigger word.”

“Wait, so it’s a dummy like mine?”

“Yours a dummy?” Hawkeye asked, confused.

“No, it wasn’t like yours. It clearly worked before, but it was turned off. I don’t know how.”

Clint and Wade exchanged surprised glances.

“Something’s telling me we have a little helper.”

“Not the time,” Wade said. “How much we have till S.H.I.E.L.D.’s reinforcements show up?”

“Uh… Seconds.”

“Then we gotta run. I mean, you're staying and letting nice agents patch you up.”

“Wanna use the back door?” Hedonist pointed behind his back with his thumb.

“No point in that, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gonna fly here. They’ll see,” Hawkeye said. "Now, any ideas where Peter could go?"

“If I was an amnesiac Peter Parker, I’d go to the nearest hospital.”

Warhead and Wade left the pub. There were no S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in sight, but they walked fast, just in case.

“If he went this way, then he’s probably at Mount Sinai,” Wade said. “But if he turned the corner, and he probably did, he could be at Saint Anthony. I’ll go there. You keep walking this way and you’ll reach Mount Sinai.”

“Okay,” Warhead said and they split.

 

 *

 

He had to slow down while wading through a busy street and that was when he realized no one was following him. He stopped completely and looked at a shopping window of a shop with electronics. It reflected a young, tall, brown-haired man, with hazel eyes big and scared. He looked down to confirm that man he was seeing for the first time in his life was himself. Only then he paid more attention to what he was dressed in: a navy blue jumpsuit with a logo of something he thought was an eagle on both his shoulders. It looked similar to the one the black man with an eyepatch was wearing. Maybe he shouldn’t have run. Maybe he should come back and explain himself somehow.

And yet, his instinct told him to run. Perhaps he was used to running. He didn’t even get tired after that short run from there to here, wherever both were.

He raised his hand that was still holding a gun – Glock 20. The safety was off, but the gun was unloaded. He clicked the safety, and put the gun in an empty holster strapped to his thigh. There was a stun gun in the other holster. He took it out to see it up close.

He couldn’t recall his own name, but he knew how to use a gun. What did it say about him?

That he lost his memory, for one. At least the part of it that kept personal data. He could still read, count, and handle guns. He could even recall some chemical elements, name all of the human organs, and when he longer thought about it, he even remembered the plots of several books in detail.

No one was giving him weird looks, but standing in one place on the busy street was pointless, so he started walking, slowly, not sure where he was heading. He looked down again. His suit didn’t have pockets, but there was an utility belt with pouches attached to it. Inside, he found keys, probably to his home, which wasn’t very helpful since he didn’t remember the address, a wad of banknotes – mostly tens and twenties – sixty dollars in total, a small knife and a mobile phone. The last one scared him enough to stop in his tracks again. He unlocked the screen (fortunately, he only had to swipe to do that) and turned off GPS. Of course, if someone was tracking him, it was too late. He looked around, but no one was following him; no black guys with eyepatches or weird guys in red masks around.

He started walking again, looking through his phone contacts. There weren’t many of them: Hawkguy, Maria Hill, Phil, Venom. None of the names aroused his trust. He checked his messages and found out he was only ever texting with Phil, and the texts themselves were laconic and didn’t give him any ideas. He only had one picture taken, of a brown-haired guy in his late thirties, and it was attached to Phil’s contact. He was wearing glasses and had his mouth covered. There was no custom music, no notes, no games, and when he opened a Facebook app, it asked him to register. Apparently the only application he had been using was an alarm clock, and it was set for six o’clock in the morning. The phone must have been brand new, and it looked new, too. He turned it off and put it back in one of the pouches.

His thoughts went back to his first memory. He wasn’t sure where it was, he ran away and never looked back, but it must have been a pub. He and the man in a red and black costume had their guns out, there were two people lying on the floor – he must have been in a fight. He frowned. Maybe mafia was involved. Maybe he was a wanted criminal.

He shook his head to himself. Criminals didn’t wear eagles on their shoulders. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. He must have been a good guy. He didn’t need to run and hide: the law was on his side.

Run, his instincts told him. It’s not safe, it’s never safe.

He tried to think reasonably. He lost his memory. He could wait for somebody to find him (the answer was “no” before he even started considering it), call somebody from his contact list (most likely Phil), or check in a hospital. He picked the last one and asked one of the passersby where he could find the nearest one.

As it turned out, it wasn’t far away and he got there with no problems. The hall was huge and well-lit. A row of plastic chairs stood at the wall covered with children’s drawings. At the other side there was a reception. He approached an elderly woman in white sitting behind a desk.

“Good morning,” he greeted and then started wondering if he shouldn’t have said “Good afternoon”. He never thought to check the time. The woman didn’t correct him, though, so he continued. “I, I lost my memory. I think I need help.”

The receptionist barely glanced at him from some papers she was filling. “Please, sit down and wait,” she said.

He thanked her and sat down in one of the plastic chairs, under a drawing of a stickmen family. It was signed “Casper, 7”. He started wondering what his name could have been. His instinct, the same one that told him to run, suspected it started with an “S”. Why didn’t he have any documents on him? Shouldn’t he have a badge? Good guys carried badges with themselves, didn’t they?

“You’re shield,” he heard suddenly on his left side. It took him a moment to realize that an elderly woman, even older than the receptionist, was talking to him.

“Excuse me?” he asked carefully, thinking the woman might be a little troubled. It was a weird thing to tell a stranger, not to mention grammatically incorrect.

The woman tapped his shoulder with one finger, like if that was sufficient for an answer. “You should do something about this city. Don’t you see what’s going on here? My nephew is on the table right now. He’s a good kid. Never hurt anybody. I pray to God the surgeons here are better at their job than you are, because I don’t want to spend my savings on a black dress. You know what I’m saying?”

All he understood from that statement was that the woman must have been in a great distress because of her nephew’s serious surgery.

“I’m sorry…” he said, but before he managed to add “I lost my memory” or “I have no idea what you’re talking about”, the woman snorted.

“You should be!” she said and left, muttering to herself, “Sorry, that’s all they can do, be sorry…”

He quickly forgot about the woman when his heart rate quickened at the sight of a familiar person entering the hall. The man spotted him, too. He paused uneasily and waved. He only stared at the man, not sure if he should run or stay. His instinct stayed silent, but something else told him this man wasn’t dangerous, not to him. He must have been crazy since the man was carrying more weapons on him than he could count.

When the man saw he wasn’t running, he visibly relaxed and walked up to him. He sat down next to him on a plastic chair that has just been occupied by the elderly woman.

“What do you remember?” the man asked. He wasn’t looking at him and he used it to take a good look at him. The man was tall, well-built, but he didn’t feel intimidated by him. His mask was red, with black ovals around his eyes hidden behind white lenses. He decided he liked that mask; the term “friendly” came to his mind, and he realized it must have been true. The man was his friend.

“Nothing,” he answered truthfully. “Nothing personal.”

The masked man scratched his head, falling into unease again. “My fault,” he admitted. “Although you know what? Shield’s fault. I only did what I had to do.”

What was Shield? Was it a person? An anti-terrorist unit?

“Who are you?” he asked instead. It was more important.

The man finally turned to face him. He noticed a handful of bullet holes in his costume on his chest. His skin was uneven, covered in scars. He tried not to stare.

“Deadpool,” the masked man answered. “I’m a friend.”

He nodded. He figured out the last one. “Who am I?” That was equally important.

“Agent Peter Parker.”

“Agent of what?”

“Of Shield. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and something starting with an L Division.” So S.H.I.E.L.D. Not Shield. “Listen, we need to skedaddle. They can track any of us whenever they want, and I’m pretty sure they already know where we are. Clint can’t hold them forever without them realizing he’s onto something.” Clint sounded familiar. Deadpool stood up, looking at him expectantly. He stood up, too, deciding to leave with him.

“Let’s find the backdoor,” Deadpool said, leading Peter up the hall. He took a phone out of one of his pouches. “I know someone who can bring your memories back. I need to call her.”

They stopped just in front of the backdoor. Deadpool told somebody on the other side of his mobile where they were and ended the call.

“We gotta wait for her. As soon as we go outside, they can track us again. They have cameras all around the city.”

“What city is this?”

“Chicago.”

That didn’t tell him anything. He couldn’t even remember in what state they were in. “Do I live here?”

“You live in a Helicarrier.” Whatever that was. “It’s in New York. Usually.”

At least he knew New York was in New York.

They waited about ten minutes before the backdoor opened and a young, dark-haired woman walked in. She couldn’t be more than eighteen years old.

Deadpool, who tensed when the door opened, relaxed again at the sight of her. “We’re going back to school, they don’t know an X-Man was involved. They won’t look for us there.”

The teenager nodded. Deadpool turned to Peter. “We’re going to teleport. It’s not a pleasant sensation the first time around. You can get nauseous.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

Deadpool and the teenager grabbed his shoulders. They heard multiple steps behind them, running, but they didn’t turn around to investigate. Whoever that was, they were too late. Deadpool pressed something on his belt and they disappeared.

When Peter’s feet touched the ground once again, he felt too dizzy to look around. He was sat down on something soft – a bed. They gave him time to get a hold of himself. When he looked up, he found himself in a bedroom of a teenager – probably the very one who stood in front of him, staring at him with penetrating gaze.

“Can you do that?” Deadpool asked.

“I can. There’s a problem though. Some of his remaining memories are fake. I’ll have to bring them back, too. It’ll feel like schizophrenia.”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter said. He didn’t care. He just wanted his memories back.

“There are also some black holes. Some memories that are gone forever. I can do nothing about that. Honestly, you should go to an experienced telepath with him.” The teenager turned to look at Deadpool. “They should be able to fix the black holes and get rid of the fake memories.”

“We’re currently chased by S.H.I.E.L.D., if you haven’t noticed,” Deadpool said. “I don’t have time to force Psylocke or Emma or whoever to please, hear me out. I only got you.”

“Point taken.” The teenager looked at Peter again with serious eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Do it.”

He wasn’t sure what he was asking her to do, and when a sudden wave of memories hit him, he wasn’t ready. There were so many of them, passing so quickly before his eyes that he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Different voices and sounds came from all around, talking and singing to him, all at once, making it unable to distinguish at least a word. Someone was screaming. When he came to, he realized that it was him. He closed his mouth. His hands were clenching his throbbing head. Something wet was dripping from his nose. He touched it and raised the fingers to his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he could tell it was blood.

“Are you alright?” Deadpool’s mask showed up in his peripheral vision. He was kneeling before him, looking into his face.

“It’s normal,” the kid said. She handed Peter a tissue. “I think,” she added under her breath.

Peter pressed the tissue to his nostrils and smiled despite the pain.

“Wade,” he whispered. Wade smiled too, his mask stretching.

“Welcome back, sweet cheeks.”

Peter looked at the kid that just gave him his life back. “I still don’t know you.”

“They call me Negasonic Teenage Warhead. I’m a student of Jean Grey School.”

“Well, thank you, Negasonic.” He stood up to shake her hand, but he faltered and Wade pushed him back on the bed.

“Have some rest. We have time.”

Warhead looked at a clock. “Do you still need me? I can still make it to the afternoon classes.”

“Sure, go.” Wade waved her off and Warhead left the room. Wade sat down beside Peter.

“Do you need anything? Water?”

He shook his head gently. Wade sighed in relief.

“Good, because I don’t wanna leave this room and risk Wolverine seeing me. I’m not allowed here.”

“What’s the plan?”

“My place in Chicago is burned, but I own a warehouse in Jersey. Clint is gonna join us as soon as he can.”

“Clint works with you.” In fact, Wade did mention Clint back in the hospital.

“Yeah. I think he wants to ask me out.”

Peter snorted.

“What?” Wade asked, offended.

“Nothing.” Peter was still smiling. The headache was slowly going away. “And Venom?”

Wade shook his head. “Didn’t even see him.”

Peter’s smile faded. He looked down on his knees, worrying his lip.

“You think he might be in danger?”

He shook his head. “I saw him on the Helicarrier. I met him as Gaylord.” He tried to remember the conversation between Flash and Clint he heard in the corridor. It was hard to access particular memories. All he remembered was that Flash complained S.H.I.E.L.D. took away his Peter and put Gaylord in his place, but that was all. He didn’t even move his finger to help Peter. Not even when he visited him in the coffee shop back when he was Dean.

“Well, can you stand up?”

He nodded. They both stood up and Wade wrapped his arm around him to teleport them away.

 

* 

 

Clint didn’t come until late at night. Banging on the door startled both Wade and Peter, and when Wade rolled the door up, Clint grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You said there’d be no killing,” he seethed. “You promised!”

Wade raised his hands and pushed Clint back. “I didn’t kill anybody!”

Clint laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh; it sounded both fake and hysterical and made the hairs on Peter’s nape raise. Clint tangled his hand into his hair and pulled, staring at Wade with glassy eyes.

“Coulson’s dead. He’s fucking dead! I knew I shouldn’t have come to you…”

“Phil’s dead?” Peter asked in a breaking voice.

“Peter.” Clint finally noticed him. He rushed to his side. Peter got up from wooden crates he had been sitting on and let Clint embrace him, but his eyes were fixed on Wade.

“Did you kill him?”

“Not my fault! You told me he’d be wearing a bulletproof vest!”

“He was, but not on his neck. You grazed his artery; he bled out before S.H.I.E.L.D. transported him to medical bay.” Clint took a step back, resting his hands on Peter’s elbows, not yet willing to let him go. His eyes scanned Peter’s face. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but you’ve never been close to Coulson… Never called him by his name.”

“I wasn’t.” Peter let his forearms fall, forcing Clint to let go of him. “But Gaylord was. I’m… I have all these versions of myself in my mind, it’s hard to distinguish them.”

Clint looked at Wade questioningly. Wade just shrugged. Clint sighed and sat down on the crates.

“You didn’t get in trouble?” Wade asked. Clint shook his head.

“No, they didn’t figure out it was I who betrayed them. Fury doesn’t know what hit him; he’s angry at himself he was stupid enough to turn his back to you. And that he didn’t notice sooner how bad Coulson was injured. I’m angry at myself for that, too.” He took off his purple-tinted glasses and rubbed his eyelids. He breathed deeply, put the glasses back on and raised his head. “Anyway, they’re blaming Hammer for everything. They think he figured out the trigger word and somehow passed it to you.”

“Right,” Peter said. “Weasel was a S.H.I.EL.D. agent, I saw him.” He turned to look at Wade. “What’s that about?”

“Wait, they’re blaming Weasel? Where’s he now?”

“Under arrest. They’ll drop him off at the nearest prison as soon as he starts talking. He hasn’t cracked yet. Which is understandable, since he’s innocent.”

Wade didn’t like the words Clint used, especially the “cracked” one. He went back to his memory of Clint interrogating him. He was being nice. But Clint was here now, and whoever was interrogating Weasel probably wasn’t as nice. He cursed under his breath.

“I need to get on the Helicarrier.”

Clint raised his eyebrow. “You hear yourself? Man, he betrayed you. I don’t wanna sound like a total asshole, but he’s a perfect scapegoat, too.”

“Remember when you said we had a little helper?”

Clint’s eyes widened. “Hammer? You’re sure?”

“Who else?”

“Well, that changes things,” Clint agreed. He hid his face in his hands and groaned. “We need a plan. Another sleepless night before us.”

“We better hurry. I don’t wanna find his body floating in a river,” Wade said.

“He’s with S.H.I.E.L.D., not some supervillains.”

“You’re talking about people who stole Spider-Man’s life.”

Clint looked up, first at Wade, who was frowning under his mask, and then at Peter’s worried face. Deadpool was right – not only did they erase Spider-Man’s memory and control his life for almost a year, they also just lost one of theirs to a person whose team Weasel played for. Although he was sure they wouldn’t kill him, they also weren’t going to hold back. He rubbed his eyelids under his glasses yet again.

“Okay, I think I know what to do.”

 

*

 

The next morning at seven o’clock Peter and Deadpool entered the Helicarrier as agents Herrick Goldman and Leopold Fitz. Clint was right behind them. Peter could feel the aura of tension surrounding him – if they screwed up today, S.H.I.E.L.D. would realize who was the real mole.

“It’s two past seven.” Clint looked at his pink Hello Kitty watch Deadpool managed to get for all of them. He was pretty sure if something was going to compromise him, it’d be it. No matter how silly most of the staff thought he was, they’d never believe he’d willingly wear something so ridiculous. “Cells are on the lowest level.”

“I know, I’ve been there,” Deadpool reminded him. Clint silenced him with a glare.

“Knowing you, you’d mix up the lowest level with the highest one.”

“Still sore over that bullet wound, huh?”

Clint ignored him. “I give you twenty minutes to get there. That’s more than enough. Let’s say that at… seven and twenty-three, I’ll cut the power. You’ll have about half a minute to break Weasel out,” he said, unconsciously rubbing the bandages hidden under his costume.

“I know, we’ve been through that,” Wade said.

“You’ll have about half a minute to break Weasel out,” Clint deadpanned before breaking into a shit-eating grin.

“Fuck you, bird boy.” Wade gestured at Peter to follow him and they walked away towards the staircase. “Seven and twenty-three,” he added, pointing at Clint.

“Remember that agent Fitz is British,” Peter said as they ran down the stairs to the lowest level.

“How’s my fake British accent?” Deadpool asked in his fake British accent.

“And that he works in the labs on the first level. Avoid it, you don’t want him to run into you.”

“I’m not stupid, sweet cheeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. Being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was all I’ve known, and now I’m going up against them.”

“It was them who went up against you,” Deadpool corrected. They passed by some of the agents running upstairs and exchanged “good mornings”.

“This is my level.” Peter stopped at level two. “I’m going to get my things. If I’m not upstairs when you get there, don’t wait for me, just get the hell outta here.”

Deadpool nodded and they split. He reached the lowest level and walked down the corridor. The prison area was unguarded; everybody could get in and out. S.H.I.E.L.D. relied on their advanced technology to keep the prisoners in, and they did have what to rely on. Each little cell was protected by a solid glass door that could only be opened by Maria Hill’s handprint.

“The glass is bulletproof. Bullets and bombs won’t break it,” Clint had said back in Deadpool’s warehouse.

“So I need Hill’s hand,” Deadpool had said.

“Don’t be stupid.” Clint had been taken aback by the idea. “There has to be another way.”

“Adamantium?”

Clint had considered it for a while. “Yes, it could work.”

Deadpool realized on how many “ifs” their plan was built on, but he wasn’t worried about it. A plan with many ifs was his kind of plan.

He slowed down when he entered the prison area. He looked inside the cells; most of them were empty, but some held prisoners, mostly B-list villains like Mysterio and Shocker. Deadpool remembered what Clint had told him about Pleasant Hill and thought these villains wouldn’t be here for long.

“Just better don’t get caught,” he muttered to himself. He wandered to the next cell and stopped in his tracks. He barely recognized Weasel because of dried blood covering his face, but it was him. He was still wearing a navy blue S.H.I.E.L.D. suit. He raised his head to look at Deadpool, but of course he saw only an unfamiliar agent in a labcoat. A shadow of fear went through his eyes before he managed to compose himself. Blood in Wade’s veins boiled – whoever did that to Weasel, they were gonna pay for it. He gestured for Weasel to get back and so he did, holding his left wrist like if it was dislocated. Deadpool looked at his watch. 7:20. He had another three minutes. He looked closely at the glass door, calculating how hard and at what angle he should hit it. At 7:23 he reached back for his katana. Weasel’s eyes grew wide at the sight of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent pulling out a familiar sword seemingly out of nowhere and he understood who he was really looking at. Deadpool saw him mouth “Wade, no” before the lights suddenly went out.

“Half a minute,” he whispered and took a good swing before hitting the door with the katana. The blade didn’t even leave a scratch, but after the second hit, the glass cracked in a cobweb. With the third hit, adamantium blade went through the cracked glass like through butter – a hard, straight out of the fridge one, but still a butter. Another two hits, a kick to the door to push out the remaining glass blocking the entrance and he was in. Weasel stood against the opposite wall with his hands raised before him, ready to push back if Wade tried to attack him.

“You went to a lot of trouble to kill me,” he said.

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d wait for you to do the time,” Wade replied, approaching him. He turned on a little flashlight his Hello Kitty watch had built in. He scanned Weasel’s face in a dim light it gave. The dried blood came mainly from the cuts on his right eyebrow and the left side of his face. His right eye and lower lip were blue and swollen. “Who did this to you?”

“Black Widow.” Weasel didn’t bother to explain further; if Wade was here, he already knew what had happened.

“She’s a dead woman,” Wade said seriously. Suddenly the light flickered on. Sensing the damaged glass door, an alarm went out.

“Shit!” Wade exclaimed. He was supposed to take Weasel and run, not to small talk with him. “I mean, bollocks.”

He grabbed Weasel by the wrist – the uninjured one – and led him out of the cell. He heard banging on the opposite door through the howling sirens; he looked that way to see Hedonist inside. He cursed again. Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. had enough on him to arrest him.

“Take this.” Wade shoved a gun into Weasel’s hand. “Go upstairs, Spidey should be there. If he’s not, just steal a quinjet or whatever and get outta here.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just run and don’t get caught.”

They exchanged glances, Weasel’s worried for Wade’s determined one, before Weasel nodded and rushed towards the exit. Wade took a deep breath and repeatedly hit the door of Hedonist’s cell until it broke, too. Hedonist kicked out the remaining glass himself and got out through the hole, shattered fragments scraping his arms and cheek, but he paid it no mind.

“My pub’s compromised because of you!” He poked Wade’s chest. “Now I have to rob a bank and buy myself a new one! And it’s been a while, I’ll have you know!”

“Just get yourself a Patreon and ask for donations. It’s all the rage these days.”

Hedonist squinted at him and walked away, still pointing at him. “You owe me.”

“I just broke you out!” Deadpool rushed after him. He could already hear footsteps and shouting – agents were coming to stop them. Did they run into Weasel?

“I can’t buy a pub for freedom.”

“You can’t buy it while behind the bars as well. Get behind me, unless you wanna be collateral damage.”

“What?”

Wade shoved him behind his back just when about eight agents ran into the area, shooting from their guns.

“Alright. Let’s get this party started.” He swung his katana in his hand. “Don’t get killed,” he added before running towards the agents. He turned off his image inducer, showing them who they were really dealing with – and to distract them from Hedonist with his red-clad, intimidating figure. He reached for several throwing stars with his left hand and took two agents out with them. Six more to go.

“Too bad it’s not a video game, I could use my health bar for this.” A jump on the wall, a somersault and he was inside the group of agents. “I’m starting to regret I agreed to this ‘no killing’ dilly-o. It’d be sooo easy to shoot you lot in the head. But this one guy would be really, really angry at me if I did, and then he’d never ask me out.”

He figured the best course of action would be to fight with his bare hands, so he punched and kicked, knocking his opponents out. Unfortunately, there was another group of them coming down the stairs. He had to get through or he’d be trapped downstairs, fighting them till next day.

“Grab my hand!” He extended his hand towards Hedonist; he grabbed it and they teleported to the first level. Since the Helicarrier was in the constant move, it was too risky to teleport for longer distances.  One of the agents ran into them; Hedonist knocked him out with a gun he was holding. Wade’s gun, to be more specific. When did he manage to steal it?

They teleported another level above. _Thwip, thwip._

“Thwip, thwip?” Deadpool repeated. As in response, something black and sticky hit him in the face. “Hey, buy me dinner first!”

“No, thanks,” Agent Venom replied, shooting more black web at him, but Deadpool managed to dodge it. Unable to get the web out of his mask, he took it off. Hedonist opened fire and Venom jumped down from the ceiling. He webbed the gun closed with another _thwip_.

“Aw, fuck.” Hedonist looked at now useless gun. He threw it at Venom who dodged it easily. Wade threw his teleporter at Hedonist.

“Now we’re even.”

“We’ll talk about it.” Hedonist didn’t waste any more time; he put the belt on and disappeared. Wade grabbed a handful of throwing stars and send them Venom’s way in one swift motion. Venom jumped, did a backflip, and while he managed to dodge all of them, he couldn’t protect himself from a round shield that hit him in the head. He gracelessly fell to the ground and didn’t move anymore. The shield bounced from the floor to be caught by a white-gloved hand.

“Tasky,” Deadpool sighed. They approached the unconscious body and looked down at it. “Is he dead?”

“You kiddin’ me? He’s worth millions. I ain’t killing him for free.”

Deadpool nodded understandingly. “Whatcha doing here?”

They heard raised voices and footsteps coming from the stairways.

“Not the time for small talk.”

They rushed towards the stairs. First agents ran their way, shooting bullets. Taskmaster threw his shield at them, knocking them off their feet.

“I’ll stop them, you go.”

Deadpool stared at him. “You’re alright, you know?”

“Go!”

Taskmaster didn’t need to repeat himself; Deadpool ran upstairs, not stopping until he reached the highest level. Now he only needed to get to the roof, steal a quinjet – never mind he had no idea how to fly that thing – and run to safety. Easy peasy.

He slowed down at the sight of a scrawny man in a S.H.I.E.L.D. suit lying in the pool of blood… and Maria Hill towering over him. Holding his breath, he approached them, his eyes fixed on the unmoving body on the floor, more details registering in his panicked mind – face covered in blood, broken glasses on his nose, glassy eyes staring off into the distance and a bullet hole above them, in the center of his forehead. Lightheaded, Wade looked up at Hill who had her gun aimed at him, the droplets of his best friend’s blood marking her face.

“Stop right there!” she ordered. Wade saw red.

He charged at her, his sword first. She did a very stupid thing and tried to block the blow with her forearm; the blade cut it off and she screeched. Her eyes went wide as she fell to her knees holding the stump with her healthy hand.

“I carry these katana for a reason, not only because they look cool,” Wade said, his voice low and dangerous. He put a gun to Hill’s forehead and turned off the safety. “Though I admit, the cool look is a factor… No, I know guns are useless against them Kevlar suits… Unless I go for the brains… Nobody was going to die today, Hill, so know you made that choice—”

“Wade!”

Wade stayed silent for a moment, unmoving.

“You better go get us a quinjet, Spidey,” he said finally, his voice even lower, not turning around to look at him. If he saw his pleading face, he could’ve changed his mind, and he couldn’t have that. “I have a business here to finish.”

“Wade, please, let’s just go. You punished her enough already. That hand’s not growing back.”

“Her head won’t grow back either.”

“Wade. Please.”

He wished he didn’t care. He wished Spider-Man’s pleading meant nothing to him. He wished he could just pull the fucking trigger already.

“She killed Weasel, Spidey. She erased your memory and controlled your life.”

“She did, and she will pay for it. She will be brought to justice for all her crimes, Wade, but not like this. Now please, put down the gun or I’ll have to make you.” A string of web stuck to Deadpool’s gun and disarmed him with a strong pull. He spun around on his heel, staring at Peter in disbelief. He had turned off his image inducer, too, and changed from S.H.I.E.L.D. suit to his regular Spider-Man costume.

“You can’t stop me,” Wade said, pointing at his wrists aimed at him.

“No,” he agreed. “But I can try.”

The distraction Spider-Man provided was enough for Maria Hill; she grabbed the gun still resting in her cut off hand and shot. Wade’s head exploded, fragments of his skull and brain splattering the walls and floor. His lifeless body fell to the ground. Spider-Man cursed and shot web towards Hill, but she already took off, leaving traces of her own blood behind her.

Trying very hard not to look at Weasel, Spider-Man kneeled down beside Wade’s body. He could see the nervous tissue moving and multiplying, rebuilding Wade’s brain, fresh bone and skin growing over it.

“Come on, Wade. Can you hear me? We gotta go.”

He wasn’t sure if Deadpool heard him, but he mumbled something, what Peter took for a good sign. At least he was partially conscious.

“Can you get up?” Spider-Man tried to help him up. His body was limp and uncooperative, but eventually Deadpool managed to stand up, even if a little unsteadily. Holding him firmly, Spider-Man led him to the staircase leading to the roof.

“Kill. Hate. Ouch.” It seemed that at this point, Wade could only communicate with single words.

“I know, Wade, but Hill’s only a part of the problem here. She’ll get what she deserves, I promise, but not yet.” Judging by Wade’s current ability to comprehend only single words, he didn’t understand a thing of what Peter said, but he kept talking to him in a calm, soothing tone.

Climbing up the stairs with Wade barely controlling his moves was an adventure, but they made it. When they scrambled to the roof, Wade was able to make a simple sentence.

“Brain hurts.”

Spider-Man barely heard him over the noise the engines and the wind were making. Hawkeye was standing in front of one of the Quinjets; he motioned for them to hurry up.

“There’s Hawkeye, you see?” he said soothingly. “We need to go to him.”

“Get outta here.”

“Yes, get outta here.”

Wade’s head was intact again and he could walk on his own; Spider-Man sighed in relief and let himself relax. They were close, just few more steps and they’d leave the Helicarrier and never come back.

They almost reached Hawkeye when Peter felt a blinding pain in his shoulder. Somebody behind them shot at them and they turned around to see Black Widow running towards them.

“Stop!” she yelled. “You’re under arrest!”

Paying fresh bullet wounds in his back no mind, Wade drew his gun and aimed at her. He only managed to fire once before Hawkeye threw his whole body on his arm, weighing it down.

“Deadpool, no!”

“Let go, Barton! She tortured Weasel, goddammit! You shoulda seen him!”

They glared at each other, neither of them wanting to give up.

“She was ordered to! Not her fault!” Clint yelled.

Black Widow slowed down, her gun still aimed at them, but now she was staring at Hawkeye like if she saw him for the first time in her life. Feeling her gaze, Clint turned around. They exchanged meaningful glances and Black Widow stopped, lowering her gun.

“Into the Quinjet!” Clint ordered, looking at Wade again. This time Wade listened; he holstered the gun and the three of them got into the Quinjet. Black Widow watched them fly away until they were only a dark dot in the sky.

 


	7. Epilogue

Wade spent Christmas Eve in Hedonist’s new pub named “666”. It was only opened the previous day, but it was already filled with Chicago’s shadiest citizens. It was still lacking Christmas decorations. Perhaps there was no Christmas where Hedonist came from.

“What’re your Christmas plans?” Wade asked as Hedonist refilled his glass.

“Pouring some loners drinks,” Hedonist replied. “Yours?”

Wade shrugged. “Spider-Man will prob’ly wanna celebrate. But I don’t feel very festive, you know?”

Hedonist nodded understandingly.

But they weren’t celebrating, unless one could call sitting on the couch and drinking white wine straight from the bottle that.

Clint came. Wade suspected hanging with them beat sitting at home alone.

“Isn’t there a Christmas party at the Avengers Tower?” Peter asked. He changed. He cut his hair again, but he resigned from his abstinence, at least for the time being. The spider charm was also gone from his neck.

“Natasha’s there.” Clint spun around on a swivel chair.

“You still haven’t talked?”

Clint shook his head.

“It isn’t over,” Wade said suddenly. Peter and Clint looked at him warily. It was the first time he spoke this evening.

“It’s not,” Peter agreed. “Pleasant Hill is still well and running. It must be shut down before it’s too late.”

“Hill must die.”

Peter and Clint exchanged glances.

“I can settle for a life sentence,” Peter said finally. “She deserved that, didn’t she?”

“Sure.” Clint took a sip from his bottle and spun again. Wade’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

“So what do we do?” he asked.

Clint sighed. They weren’t gonna sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks for sticking around and letting me know what you think. Your feedback made writing and editing this all the more worthwhile. 
> 
> If you think that the kind of open ending suggests a sequel, then you're right. There is supposed to be a sequel. That I haven't even started writing yet. So I don't know when I'll get around to posting it. Hopefully, you won't have to wait long.


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